“I simply wanted you to either bring that girl to me or destroy her,Thralk. Was that too much to ask?”
“No master. She was much more powerful than either of us anticipated. I fear for the success of our plan.”
“We shall see about that, my minion. We shall see.”
Darkness was all about her. In the deep gloom, stars fell. They fell not like a comet, but like rain. Thousands of them, streaking downwards in a glittering rain storm of light. Earwen twirled in bliss. Her beautiful white, flowing dress billowed out beneath her in rich folds as the stars wove themselves into a protective blanket around her. The shimmering droplets glistened in her hair and glowed on her bare arms. All was perfect except for one lone thought that was nagging at the back of her mind.
It was begging for even a moments attention, but she pushed it farther back. What could possibly be so important as to steal time from this precious moment? But this thought of her’s wouldn’t have this. She finally dropped her arms in defeat and opened her eyes. She ceased her spinning and merely floated in mid-air.
Earwen focused all her attention to the feeling in the back of her mind. As soon as she did, the same searing heat she had felt while fighting the monster exploded throughout her head. She screamed and arched her back in pain. She writhed and twisted; turned and curled. She pressed her clammy palms into her eyes to try to erase the pain, along with the horible beast that came with it, from her memory.
“Wake up you lazy girl! Wake up!” Earwen screamed at herself.
Earwen woke with a start. She bolted upright and screamed. Her breath came in quick, shallow, rasping breaths. Soon she chuckled quietly to herself. It was only a dream…It was only a dream. She leaned back against the tree trunk. Just then, she caught a glimpse of a shinning object laying next to her. Earwen reached a blood soaked hand out and grasped the cool metal of the sword.
“So you are my saviour. Thank you. I’m glad the Valar listened to my prayers.” She said with satisfaction in her voice.
Earwen rested the sword across her lap and inspected it closer. She noticed that an engraving of an ancient language was etched deeply into the shinning silver metal. The speech was not known to Earwen. She traced her fingers across the long, looping script and wondered what it said. The rounded hilt was a rich mahogany wood with the vine and leaf motife of the Elves gently inlayed in a pewter metal. The design on the hilt was slightly raised to give the weilder a better grip.
The same feeling of emense power trapped within this sword came back to her as she held it infront of her. She turned it in the light and saw that the script had changed. Earwen held the sword still and watched the writting. After a few moments, this new message melted away and was replaced by the first. Earwen watched the sword for a few more minutes before laying it in her lap again.
She gazed at the sword for a while longer then put it aside, deciding that she would have more time to look at it later. Earwen stood slowly. She winced as the deep gashes in her side reminded her of their presence. She poked and prodded all over her body and found that she was otherwise unhurt. Then she set herself to the task of preparing a healing spell for her injuries.
Earwen placed her hands lightly ontop of her wounds and closed her eyes. The rich, flowing words of the Quenya language fell from her blood red lips and wrapped themselves in magic. A dim golden light spilled from her splayed fingers and began the long task of closing the gaping cuts.