By the Light of the Moon (Chapter 2)

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Lirela
Sojourner
Posts: 87
Joined: Thu Apr 11, 2002 5:01 am
Location: North Dakota

By the Light of the Moon (Chapter 2)

Postby Lirela » Wed Oct 08, 2003 7:12 pm

Lirela slowly rose to her feet, her head pounding. She looked at the smelly body lying next to her, its ugly face staring eerily up into the sky. She couldn’t remember fighting the orc; she had worked on pure survival instinct it seemed. She was still trembling. She tested her ankle. It hurt, but she could walk on it. Was that someone calling for help? She had to find the others.

The young woman climbed the embankment back up to the road and looked around. It was dark; they must have fought a long time. The sun had just begun to set when the orcs had jumped out of the woods at them. The darkness wouldn’t be a problem though, because Lirela had always possessed excellent vision at night. She looked left, but didn’t see anything except the road and the thick forest on either side of it; the tree branches that stretched across the road were casting eerie shadows in the moonlight. She searched the forest, watching for more orcs to jump out at her. Satisfied that she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, she looked the other direction toward the wagons and mules. The torches had gone out, but from here the wagons seemed undamaged—a good sign—and the mules appeared anxious but unhurt.

Lirela walked in the direction of the wagons. She heard the cry again; someone was calling for help. She moved quickly, ignoring the pain in her ankle. Rounding the wagon, she was alarmed and terrified at what she saw. A young man near her age looking scared and confused was kneeling over her father’s body covered in blood. There were three orc bodies nearby and her father’s bloody short sword was still clutched in his hand.

Bradon spotted her and called to her. “Lirela! Your father’s hurt. We need to find help.”

She rushed over to her father, whose complexion was dusky even in the moonlight. He had a terrible gash in his side, deep and oozing. A feeling of dread grew in the pit of her stomach. She thought he was dead. Just then, he lifted his hand and touched her face. Lirela looked into her father’s eyes and could see that the spark of life that usually resided there was fading. She took his hand, held it tightly and told her father she loved him. He tried to speak, but merely croaked. Lirela knew, though, that he had said he loved her, too.

“Father, don’t give up. We’ll get you help.”

She turned to her friend. “Bradon, go find me some shirts from our wagon to use for bandages, and bring me some water. Then find the others and send the injured ones here.” She turned back to her father, who was nearly unconscious. The feeling of dread rose into her chest, and her heart ached. She squeezed her father’s hand and told him to hold on; help was on the way. Silently, she prayed to Selune for help or for a quick and painless death for her father. She couldn’t bear to watch him suffer like this.

Bradon returned with a clean cloth—the shirt her father always wore; it was her favorite—and a waterskin, then moved off again to find the others. The young woman began ripping the shirt into strips, leaving about half of it intact to clean around the wound. She poured some of the water over the gash in her father’s side and gingerly cleaned the area the best she could.

The others returned, tending to their own injuries and watching what would happen to their companion whose wounds were so grave. Lirela put her hands on either side of the gash. Trying to stop the gush of blood, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. How did she know what to do? What if she was hurting him more than helping? No time for doubts, she told herself. Just do what you have to do. She heard muted whispering and loud gasps all around her. She opened her eyes and was astonished at what she saw.

Her hands were glowing faintly with a silverish white light, as if a beam of moonlight had found its way through the thick canopy of trees above. The wound somehow looked less severe now, less deep. Warmth spread into her hands and up her arms, and a feeling of peace washed over her. She held her hands there, no longer afraid or panicked, but now calm and confident. The wound closed a bit and some of the color returned to her father’s face, though he was still notably pale. Haron turned his head and looked at Lirela for a brief moment of clarity before losing consciousness. In that fleeting instant she looked into her father’s eyes and relief flooded her. There was life there, and she knew he would make it.

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