The Lastborn: A Middle Earth Story(Book 1)(EDITING)

Chapter 10: Hunted

The man looked over at the Orc, his lips curling upward in a cruel smile. "And then he'll wish he'd never been born." 

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Gerithor could barely walk, he felt weak and was losing blood steadily. He forced himself to continue on, slowly making his way through the forest. With each passing moment it felt larger and more frightening, his injury making him feel vulnerable to all that moved. 

He didn't want to stop until Rivendell, although he knew deep down that was impossible. He traveled all day and well into the night, but was finally unable to continue. He collapsed to the ground and crawled to a tree, propping himself against it as he pulled the cloth bandage from his skin to survey the wound. It was still bleeding and had opened up even more when he was walking. Two of his ribs were now visible, poking up through the rent flesh. He winced and put the cloth back, checking on Alif as he leaned back against the tree. The baby was awake, and looked back at him curiously. Gerithor attempted a smile.

"Hey lad. We're going to be alright. I'm taking you somewhere safe," He said, more for his own sake than the baby's. He didn't believe his own words.

Alif looked at his uncle, almost looking concerned. Gerithor realized he must look terrible. He smirked at the baby. 

"I know I'm ugly but you don't have to look at me like that!" He laughed softly, then winced as a pain shot through his side. "I better not laugh either, eh?" He looked at Alif and winked. The baby began to giggle. Gerithor smiled and put a finger on Alif's nose. This made him giggle even more. Gerithor smirked and said, "you better stop, or you're gonna make me start laughing again." He pulled Alif from the pack and cradled him in his arms. He softly sang a song to the little baby as he held him:

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.
There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore
And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.
But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?*

Alif slowly closed his eyes as Gerithor sang, and fell asleep. Gerithor smiled down at the baby slowly rocking him as the gentle wind brushed by them both. He had heard the song as a boy; his mother had sung it to him many times before he went to sleep. As he quietly sang it now he pictured his mother singing it to him. It distracted him from the pain, and he soon closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, sleeping a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

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He woke up a few hours later, realizing that the sun had already risen high into the sky. He moved to stretch, but gasped as his side was wracked with pain. He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this, but he knew he had to find help, and soon. 

He began going eastward, walking slowly because moving too much caused terrible pain in his side. He traveled until he came upon a river. Kneeling beside it, he filled his waterskin and took a long, refreshing drink of the cold, clean water.

Suddenly, he heard a twig snap. He looked up, away toward the other side of the river where the sound had come from, and standing there was a small deer. It hadn't seemed to notice Gerithor and was drinking greedily from the river. Gerithor reached for an arrow. Fresh venison sounds good, he thought as he fitted the arrow to his bow. He drew back.