Reminder:: Anything referenced to from J.R.R. Tolkien's works is not mine. I refuse to claim ownership for such creativity, just for this fan fiction if it's worth it. I also do not own the lyrics to the song 'Mr. Brightside' by The Killers which I have used once more in this chapter.

The little ditty she hums is total crap made by me. I don't want to claim it, but I don't want to blame Tolkien for writing it. xD

Have a go at this rather short chapter and thanks so much for reading!

Chapter Six :: Lost

The light was blinding and my head was pounding. With a tiny groan, I freed my arms from the rubble around me and rubbed my eyes. I felt like sleeping, but the bit of sun I could see through the torn fabric was enough to wake me up. What had happened last night?

My legs were numb and I could not move at first. It took some maneuvering as I twisted and turned around and finally sat up. I pushed the heavy center pole of the tent off my legs and felt the blood rush back into them with a tingly, uncomfortable force. After the prickling was gone, I rubbed my wrists and ankles and finally crawled out from the wreckage.

I lifted the flap of the tent and stuck my head out. "Ah!" I cried, clapping a hand over my mouth. A bloody, distorted face was lying only four inches from my own. "W-Wolfling…"

Scared and sick, I pulled myself out into the sunlight and sat next to Wolfling's dead body for a few moments. His armor was notched and his bleeding had stopped. He was long dead.

Afraid to stand, I crawled down the way that used to be a path between the tents. Bodies were scattered about and tents were collapsed or burned to ash. Most of the bodies were bodies of men, men I recognized, but there were a few of the strange creatures I had seen the previous night dead here and there. I stared into the face of the lifeless albino I had seen before I blacked out. He was stuck through the stomach and lay with a surprised look etched permanently onto his face. His eyes were large, yellow, and almost cat like. He had little to no scraggly hair and he smelt of mud and filth. Overall, a very disgusting being, I had to conclude.

"Alatar…" I realized and got to my feet. I started to run through the camp which was now plainly open and unguarded. I scanned the faces of the fallen and hoped that I would not recognize one of the wizards.

I lifted body after body to see face after face, but not one of them resembled a wizard. Just when I was losing hope and gaining nausea, a shred of blue fabric caught my eye. I ran like a lunatic to the spot and stared down. Dropping down to my knees, I gave the Arabian horse a stroke across its cold, tight face. Sniffling a little, I reached underneath to the saddle and carefully unhooked the piece of torn fabric that had been caught and left behind. Sky blue…

"Alatar?" I called out loud. The silence was overwhelming. The sky was dark and cloudy as usual, but I felt it was going to rain soon, or that it should to wash away the blood spilt. "Pallando?" I called a bit louder. There was no answer.

Realizing that I was the only survivor of the… raid, I wiped away a few tears. There was still the chance, the small glimmering hope, that the wizards escaped by other means… As long as I didn't find a body, they could always be alive somewhere.

I scourged the campsite for possible food. Disgusting as it may seem, I found packs of bread and water still tied to men. Some of their faces were mauled to the point that it looked like a vulture had already been and gone. Sick with the possibility that the creatures… ate them… I did not look back.

After digging through some collapsed tents and stealing two water bottles, I had enough bread for my flight. I would have to leave. Immediately. This camp was not safe anymore, and although I doubted that the creatures would return to their victory ground, I could not be sure. I was sure that I would not be able to survive on my own for long though, and I would have to find help somewhere…

Stringing a beaten pack I had found lying next to a burned tent to my back filled with my provisions, I set off across the field in a sprint. I wanted to get to the cover of the trees. The tall grass felt like whips against my running legs and they even cut through my pants in places. Mercifully, the run did not last long and I was soon standing before the very boulder I had woken up at a little over two weeks before. I leaned against it for awhile, catching my breath and feeling just as helpless as I felt when I was here for the first time.

I let out all my emotions on a nearby tree trunk. I hit it, pounded it, kicked it, cried on it, and screamed at it. After completely losing my mind, I recoiled and sat next to the boulder to catch my breath.

What would I do? Alatar and Pallando are missing, Wolfling is dead, all the men are dead! Where could I go? What could I do?

Realization hit me like the stroke of a sword. The map! Alatar's map! But his tent burned… Damn.

I opened the pack and looked at the belongings that were not mine. There was a pack of grass for some strange reason, a bottle of some sort of powdery substance, another bottle with an oily liquid, and a small intricate dagger. I took the dagger into my hands and stared at the sheath. It was patterned with skill and the design looked like wings of some sort going up both sides of the blade. I opened it to see the knife itself and it had the same wing pattern. Clicking the dagger back into its place, I tossed it into my pack and closed it. Alright… This was it… Think of what Alatar showed you… Think!

I racked my brains for something helpful I could remember about the surrounding landscape. Sadly, the most I could remember was the West, and that wasn't helpful at all. I remembered something about Eriador, Forodwaith… somewhere called Rivendell that Alatar had put high emphasis on… But what was that place that was South of Rivendell? Hundreds of miles it was, but I remember Alatar saying something about men living there… It was not Rhun, for that's where I was, but it sounded much like it… Perhaps I would remember on the way.

I set off across the brown landscape of dead grasses and rocks. The plain looked never ending against the bright western horizon.

I had been foolish and hoped that my journey would be undercover. I felt vulnerable and exposed in the flat lands. There was nothing I could do about it, but I hoped that I could travel under the cover of trees or cliffs or something. This bareness was intimidating and I felt that I was being plainly watched from all sides. Everyone could see me. Everyone was out to get me.

Okay, panicking over. Pull yourself together! If you want to survive, you have to press on, eat little, and not panic! I told myself through closed eyes. Feeling I regained some of my bearings, I continued my walking until sunset.

My 'camp' was pathetic. It couldn't really be called a camp at all. I did not know how to make a fire and it was very cold. Basically, my feet gave up and I laid down where I was just standing. I curled up into a ball and hugged my knees, calling it 'camping'. This was ridiculous.

I did not sleep much on the first night. It felt like I was a lost child. I could see imaginary silhouettes in the distance and eyes gleamed out of nothing to frighten me. I had to admit, if it was my imagination doing this, my subconscious is brilliant.

Long story short, I walked every day for a week, ate all my food that I had so carefully rationed, and was weary. At night, I tried to press on, but my monotonous, silent walking was getting to me. I needed noise. A yell, a shout, a call, a growl-I would take anything at this point. If someone was really watching me and I was in danger, could they just get it over with so I didn't feel this constant, ominous threat?

When I went to sleep at night, I had recurring nightmares that I could not describe in the morning. They were images, nothing made sense at all. It looked like a story, maybe even my past, but the things in the dreams were so baffling. Every time the dream would start:

"Open up my eager eyes…"

Black hair.

Some kind of stone, smooth paved path.

A girl's laugh.

A roll of the eyes.

Some kind of fizzy drink…

The next part I had no idea how to describe. It just felt like an enormous pressure on my skull-like I had a headache-screaming, a line of trees, and then darkness until I awoke. These dreams always plagued my sleep, but when I woke up, I could not remember them at all. All I knew was that if felt like I hadn't slept the night before and I was exhausted all day long.

I give up… I give up…

My legs felt like they were broken. How many days I had I walked? When did I last have food? These thoughts made my stomach feel sick and my head spin.

Think, think, think! What more can I do? What can I do to motivate myself? I looked back at the mountains and could see them in the far distance like a dark cloud on the horizon.

I tried to think of something to break the silence. I took a tiny sip of water and walked a few steps before stopping. Now what was it? There was a song… Yes, the one that the men were singing… Not the drinking song, but a soldier's song… Or was it something else? For the life of me, quite literally, I could not remember any words.

Thinking my journey done and that I had tried my hardest and failed, I was perfectly content to call it a night. Even if I only woke up a few hours ago.

That was it!

I whispered the words of the song I had heard as I slowly sunk down to the ground to sleep. "Starlight gleaming, downcast meanings, horse please take me home… Across the fields, and o'er the plains, the rivers doth thou flow? Come home sad soldier, home sad soldier, to a place you know…"

I hummed it through a few times as I curled up and closed my eyes. This was a good lullaby… Even if I couldn't remember the rest…

Come home sad soldier, home sad soldier, to a place you know…

And with those words ringing in my head I fell asleep to a horse's whinny.