Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

Escape

"The night is far from over, Master Dwarf, we flee to the river." Without another word Illeandir began running toward the faint sounds of rushing water. Thrilo followed closely, wondering what he had gotten himself into. All he'd wanted tonight was a cool drink of mead and a warm bed. So far all he'd gotten was a backbreaking horse ride, a knock on the head, and a nasty bruise on his thigh. On top of all that he had lost his things, years worth of scavenging across the known dwarven realms for bits of precious metals and jems. By now it was probably scattered across the inn room floor or gone.

"Blood and flames," he muttered, "bloody humans, bah!" He thumped his fist against his leg. Illeandir chuckled despite himself. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed the blunt speech of the dwarves. Thrilo didn't seem to notice as he lamented the loss of many years of backbreaking work. He plodded along behind the light-footed elf, his footsteps seemed unnaturally loud next to Elstan's.

Elstan. Thrilo thought to himself. Where does an elf get a name like that? He wondered. He would hold the elf to his earlier promise of just how he came about such a name. "Bloody elves and their bloody secrets." he growled. He soon fell silent. Talking required too much breath to keep up with the swift pace the elf set. It soon became apparent to him that he could not keep this pace for much longer. Every step jarred the back of his head and his breath came in short bursts. He cursed the heavy meal and several pints of ale resting heavily in his stomach.

He watched the elf through slitted eyes and felt a small pang of jealousy for the easy, loping strides he took despite an immense amount of pain spreading from his arm. Thrilo harrumphed and looked away. He had never been fond of elves, though he'd met only two before this night. He hadn't likes them then with their silent aloofness and this one seemed no better. But, he recalled, this one had been the one to spare him a night in the dungeons even if he'd almost gotten killed in the process. As far as dwarves went, Thrilo was a bit of an oddity. He didn't particularly care to stay huddled away in a dwarven hall nor mine precious ores and jewels. He wanted to explore the world, see what other beauty lay beyong the glimmer of his home.

The faint sounds of rushing water slowly grew until it filled their ears. Ahead they could see trees surrounding the river. Illeandir became increasingly agitated as it drowned out the sounds of their pursuit. His head turned from side to side, eyes large and filled with silvery moonlight. He reminded Thrilo of a hunting wolf the way he searched. He found himself checking over his shoulder for pursuit every few meters. Their speed increased and they soon found themselves sprinting for the cover of trees. Thrilo barely kept up with Illeandir, whom he suspected was purposely going slower so the dwarf could keep up.

Not twenty meters from the edge of the forest a shout went up. Arrows whizzed over head. Illeandir dropped to the ground just before one could pierce him. Unable to stop he rolled over several times and came up next to Thrilo, who hadn't stopped. His face was rigid and tight with pain. He ran with his back bent over to make himself a smaller target. For a moment Thrilo thought he had taken an arrow but a quick glance told him the elf was fine.

Sprinting as fast as their legs could carry them they raced toward the forest. Never had a dwarf been so happy to see trees. Heaving great breaths he forced his short legs to go faster. Beside him the elf stumbled but quickly righted himself, never falling a step behind or inching ahead. The shouting grew more frantic as they neared the forest until suddenly they burst into the wood. Illeandir immediately pulled Thrilo toward the West while still angling deeper into the forest away from human eyes. Thrilo lost track of the number of times they changed direction and doubled back on their trail. He numbly followed Illeandir, only aware of the constant need to be moving and exhaustion.

"We are almost safe." Illeandir said as Thrilo tripped over a fallen branch and fell. It was several moments before the dwarf pushed himself up again. Illeandir wearily lead him further and further into the forest, away from the men chasing them. He didn't dare go near the river for that would be the first place they would look for him. He could only hope that somehow Ithilwen had escaped and that she would find them.

At last he stopped, not because he felt safe but because he could go no further. His arm throbbed with every step and his leg bled heavily from a deep gash received from an arrow during their mad sprint to the forest. Behind him he heard a heavy thump. He looked down and saw Thrilo sprawled out flat on his back gasping for air. Guilt flooded Illeandir and he knelt next to the dwarf.

"Are you well?"

Thrilo grunted, "I am bloody well not well!" he said and pushed himself into a sitting position. "I ain't movin' no more. Not even if orcs come after me. I be staying right 'ere."

"Rest, Master Dwarf, we leave at dawn." Thrilo looked like he wanted to argue but his eye drooped and he fell asleep sitting up. Illeandir gently laid him down and turned his attention to his own exhausted body. He stood and walked a few paces away facing the river. Steeling himself he stretched his arm in front of his chest, hissing softly through his teeth when bone grated against bone. Slowly he closed his hand into a fist and breathed deeply before quickly twisting his whole arm, forcing the shoulder joint back into its socket. With a loud pop his shoulder snapped back into place. He bit his lip in an effort to keep silent. After a moment he relaxed and stretch his arm out, relieved when it didn't pain him as much. He inspected the gash on his leg. Tearing off a strip of cloth from his shirt he bound the wound tightly. There was nothing more he could do. Ithilwen had their supplies and he had no energy to go looking for healing herbs.

Leaning wearily against a nearby tree Illeandir looked to the faint stars above through the canopy. A faint breeze lifted his hair and chilled the nape of his neck. Illeandir shivered. Change was in the air.

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Weird question but: Has anyone ever unhinged their jaw? Like to the point where you have to move your jaw around until it goes back into place and it hurts? Or you can't move because you're thinking, "crap! My jaw is gonna fall off!"

Anybody?

No?

Just me then? Used to happen all the time. *cringe*