With his eyes rivetted on the menacing contours of the weald that seemingly drew ever closer, Archim pulled his horse up short, leaping down from the saddle and stumbling over towards his brother. He stared up at him with unabashed fear reflected in his eyes, "I saw it. I tell you....I saw it."
For one fleeting instant, Fréa felt an overweening urge to raise his sword above his head and bring it down in a single stroke that would forever cut short his brother's wimpering tones. Fréa's fingers moved inexorably towards the blade hanging at his side, like a moth drawn towards a golden finger of flame.
Then, as quickly as the craving had surfaced, it again dropped away; the grey mists of rage cleared and brought with it a wave of shame. A small voice of filial affection spoke quietly within his heart, and he berated himself for the harsh manner in which he'd treated his brothers in recent days.
With the grey stormclouds lifted from his mind, Fréa reached out to tousle Archim's hair and affectionately added, "So bad, Archim? Such a fierce sight? Then, let's have another look. Just as we used to slide the cupboard door open an inch or two and battle the raging wyrm that hid inside on bleak misty nights." Fréa indulgently smiled back at his brother confident that the younger man's images would prove no more substantial that those they had imagined as young lads in their beds.
The two brothers dismounted, and with the youngest in the lead, walked back towards the shadowed grove where Archim had first pointed. When they reached the trees, Archim hung back and Fréa went to the head of the group. He forged ahead, deliberately shutting his ears to the howling noises that still swirled omenously throughout the grove; his sword held out in front of him, Fréa pushed back the overhanging boughs and trampled loudly through the bracken as if daring any foe to come forward and fight.
Finally approaching the inner circle of trees, he stared down at the forest floor fascinated by the scene that was revealed there. There were no sightless eyes or leaves bespattered with blood, no horrific sense of giant trees about to strike. Only a feeling of drowsiness and the skeletal remains of two horse heads resting silently on the grass, picked as clean as if they'd laid there for thirty years or more. Fréa crouched down to get a closer look. Attached to one of the skeletons was the tattered remnent of a bridle and bit bearing a faded crest of the Knights of Rohan, the leads clearly cut short by a dagger; it was the kind of paraphernalia that draft horses wear when hitched up to pull a wagon.
Fréa instantly yanked himself up and beckoned his brothers to follow him back to the clearing where their horses awaited. The men mounted up and followed down the path, with Hama coming close behind.
It was Graitwa who broke the silence, "We have been following a chimera. Brytta has played us for a fool. They have escaped to the pass while we chase after spare horses and trees." He glared over towards Fréa, his eyes openly hostile.
Fréa met Graitwa's glance with equal dislike. "Do you blame me alone? Do neither of you have eyes in your head? Must I do all the thinking for us? But then, it has always been like that."
After that exchange there was little talking between the men as they turned their back to the trees, and galloped hard and fast towards the southwest fearful that they would be far too late to pick up the trail of the escaped prisoner.
[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]
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