I. Runaway

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I. Runaway

            I had to keep going, I could not stop. Stopping meant defeat and capture for me. I did not want to be in the hands of anyone anymore, I wanted to be free. I wanted to live somewhere in peace without a creep of worry in the back of my mind that someone would come searching for me.

            Of course, I could wish for freedom all I wanted, it was not the same as actually receiving it.

            I was lucky I had managed to make it this far, though I had no idea where I was. I had no map on me, and I did not know the land as well as I should have, being that, for a while now, I had been doing nothing but traveling. I did not do so because I wanted to, it was because I was forced to.

            Even now, as I was alone, roaming the lands of Middle-earth, I was forced to move. I could not let them find me again; I would find no peace or kindness with them. What I craved most right now was a fresh, kind face that would take me to the nearest city, help me recover, and hopefully hide me well enough so that they would never find me again.

            Even though the journey should not have tired me, it did. Being alone, tired, hungry, and thirsty did not make the venture any better. If anything, these things made it worse. I desperately hoped for the sight of a city close by—all I had been stuck with for a while now had been the view of mountains in the distance. I looked to my right to see my large companions in the distance. At times, I had considered heading for them to see if there was civilization there and, if I was extremely lucky, a source of food and water.

            My stomach rumbled at me for the fourth time today, and it was just hitting high noon. My arms hugged my torso immediately, wishing it could find something to quiet it. I had not eaten in days; the same could be said for drinking anything. I once considered digging up grass and eating dirt—I became that frantic. If I did not find anything soon, I would die in the middle of nowhere.

            I shuddered at the thought. Though I had lived a long life, as Elves do, I still felt as though I had plenty of years ahead of me. I could not remember the last time I had seen anything that did not involve angry Men shouting, cursing, or attacking innocents or animals. I could not remember the last time I did not hear news of bad things going on, or did not hear a grueling story that gave me nightmares that same night.

I lived many years being surrounded by darkness and evil. I felt as though that period swallowed up the majority of my life. Sometimes the evil times became so prominent in my mind that I started to forget the perks in my life before the evil came into it.

This was the downside to being immortal: you saw many things over the years, heard things, experienced things, whether good or bad. Thinking about it, I had seen, heard, and experienced more horrible things that decent ones.

            It was a funny thing, being immortal, yet there were still ways I could die. I could be killed, or I could simply give up the will to live and let death claim me. Right now, I knew the latter would happen soon enough. I could not do much to care for myself at this point with no food, no water, and no form of help.

I stumbled, falling onto my knees, hunching over. Nappy, blonde hair became blinders on both sides of my face. My lower lip quivered, I closed my eyes. This was happening more often, me curling into a ball and sobbing. Crying was a common thing for me now, as I had done it for so many years.  

It was nice to not hear insults thrown at me as I cried. It was nice to be alone, though at the same time it hurt to be by myself. I was more vulnerable than ever.

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