The Shadow Walker

64. Tula Nortor

Legolas's POV

At Faèola's encouragement, I helped Eda eat a watery broth. She fussed a little at first when I tried to spoon-feed her, but she gracefully demonstrated her hands were still too unsteady to ladle the soup into her mouth without it ending up down her front.

In truth, I enjoyed feeding her. A part of me was grateful that she couldn't care for herself this way, because it provided me with an opportunity to express my care for her. The shift in our relationship had been so abrupt—and yet, it came so naturally that I could scarcely believe it hadn't happened before now.

Eda didn't remain awake for long after that; she fell asleep with a full stomach and a smile on her face. I stared at her as she rested, reluctant to waste a single moment we had together, but knowing she had to recover.

I rose from the unforgiving cot, careful not to disturb her. Then, quietly, I pulled my shoes back on and left the privacy of Eda's screens. In the corner near Amina's now-empty bed, Faèola sat in a rocking chair, fingers flying over her handiwork, and tears trickling down her wrinkled face.

The all-too-fresh grief in my own heart weighed down heavily, and I swallowed. "Where is she?" I asked softly.

"Outside," Faèola replied simply, her voice pained. "Her family is saying goodbye."

I nodded, then glanced at the door, hesitating.

"Go," the healer encouraged. "It will bring you closure."

So I went.

Outside, the sun beat down hotly. The villagers wandered around as if in a daze, adults and children alike. And a woman's wailing echoed over the plain.

I followed the sound. It led me out of the village to a small hill, where a small group of people stood. Amina's body lay in an open grave, and a woman knelt at the edge, weeping uncontrollably. At the woman's shoulder stood the same boy that had fetched Faèola, and the girl that had nearly attacked me stood several feet away, carrying a wailing baby.

A short distance away from the family stood Boromir and another man, carrying spades and quietly waiting for the family to say goodbye.

Several minutes passed without change, until finally the young woman murmured, "Èolir, the baby."

The boy nodded and went to his sister, taking the newborn in his arms. Returning to his mother, he said, "Come, Mama."

Still sobbing, the woman let her son pull her up, and he led her back toward the village. He glanced at me warily as they passed, but said nothing.

The girl remained, staring at the body of her sister.

I turned, deciding the girl needed time alone, as I had. But her cold voice stopped me.

"I would speak with you."

She turned to face me. Tears had cut tracks through the dirt on her face, but her dark eyes held only anger and distrust.

"Yes?" I replied.

A long moment passed in silence. Then, turning to look at the body again, the girl said, "What was the song you sang?"

"An Elvish lulluby," I answered. I didn't ellaborate, and she didn't ask me to. I gazed at the open grave for a moment, feeling I ought to make some sort of conversation, now that that barrier had been broken. "You are her sister?"

The girl gave a bitter scoff. "I was her sister." When I didn't respond, she added, "I am Kèolyn."

"Amina mentioned you," I said. "She told me that you taught her multiplication."