< Previous
AelKennyr Rhiano
Olwe paused and leaned against a tree, peering up through the green canopy, the trickle of sunlight dappling the leaves only faintly. He knew he rose later than he had planned, though greatly refreshed after a peaceful night's sleep. As he traveled, he collected berries and nuts to eat, pausing only to rest briefly and get his bearings before heading off again.
The peaceful sleep of the night before had eased his mind greatly and renewed his spirit. Seeing his brother once more, lightened the heaviness in his heart. Once more to behold his brother, to hear his voice, feel the love that had always been so freely given...he smiled. He allowed his memory to drift back to the days he and his brother led the Teleri ever toward the Shining Lands.
But when his mind tried to recall the events that happened between when he went to sleep in the cleric's hall in Sylvahara and found himself on the mountain side, his memories were clouded, muddled, incomplete. He remembered something about a dark-skinned elf, a woman of great beauty, with skin like black velvet. But who she was, he cannot remember, or even if she truly exists. There was something about flowers and a cave....
That pit and the voice. Even in the warming day, he shivers. In his heart crept in a dread that is at odds with the warmth and beauty of the day, with the birdsong and scampering of woodland creatures. He pushed on, making his way, hour after lonely hour, before he begins to perceive a slight thinning of trees, creating places where the light of the sun can filter through the branches of the larger tree.
In the late afternoon, he came across an babbling brook. After slaking his thirst, he sat upon the ground, a hand gently running over a patch of soft green grass. In a couple of hours, he will lose sunlight to the approaching night. As he rested, he felt the subtle leeching of the sun's warm as day slowly gives way to night. He slowly rose to his feet. Every second of light is precious to him in his trek across this unknown forest. He did not know if night would bring with it peaceful sleep again, or horrible nightmares of destruction and death.
A sense of urgency would sweep over him at times: then, at other times, a fugue would envelope him, and the very thought of continuing his journey would then seem futile and pointless. In his more lucid moments, he came to fear that within his own hröa and fëa, body and soul, there is stirrings of a great battle for his very sanity, his very existence. Whatever was in his tampered wine left him exposed and vulnerable, Olwe realized, to that terrible "thing" in the pit, and it was laying a shadowy hand upon his spirit...his essence, and slowly, purposefully, beginning squeeze.
> Next
The peaceful sleep of the night before had eased his mind greatly and renewed his spirit. Seeing his brother once more, lightened the heaviness in his heart. Once more to behold his brother, to hear his voice, feel the love that had always been so freely given...he smiled. He allowed his memory to drift back to the days he and his brother led the Teleri ever toward the Shining Lands.
But when his mind tried to recall the events that happened between when he went to sleep in the cleric's hall in Sylvahara and found himself on the mountain side, his memories were clouded, muddled, incomplete. He remembered something about a dark-skinned elf, a woman of great beauty, with skin like black velvet. But who she was, he cannot remember, or even if she truly exists. There was something about flowers and a cave....
That pit and the voice. Even in the warming day, he shivers. In his heart crept in a dread that is at odds with the warmth and beauty of the day, with the birdsong and scampering of woodland creatures. He pushed on, making his way, hour after lonely hour, before he begins to perceive a slight thinning of trees, creating places where the light of the sun can filter through the branches of the larger tree.
In the late afternoon, he came across an babbling brook. After slaking his thirst, he sat upon the ground, a hand gently running over a patch of soft green grass. In a couple of hours, he will lose sunlight to the approaching night. As he rested, he felt the subtle leeching of the sun's warm as day slowly gives way to night. He slowly rose to his feet. Every second of light is precious to him in his trek across this unknown forest. He did not know if night would bring with it peaceful sleep again, or horrible nightmares of destruction and death.
A sense of urgency would sweep over him at times: then, at other times, a fugue would envelope him, and the very thought of continuing his journey would then seem futile and pointless. In his more lucid moments, he came to fear that within his own hröa and fëa, body and soul, there is stirrings of a great battle for his very sanity, his very existence. Whatever was in his tampered wine left him exposed and vulnerable, Olwe realized, to that terrible "thing" in the pit, and it was laying a shadowy hand upon his spirit...his essence, and slowly, purposefully, beginning squeeze.
> Next