Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
- 25
- 26
- 27
Chapter 26: Red Fang

Legolas worked in his office at the field barracks, organizing his troupes for the next rotation. He sipped on the chilled juice at his side as he calculated his resources, deploying the Greenwood detachments over the map that was spread over a large, rectangular table in the centre of his operations room.

Things had changed so much in the last few years that the southern regions were hardly recognizable any more, had even been baptized with a new name – the Mirkwood. It was time for change on a military level, for The Company could no longer hold off the advancing darkness and decay. The army needed a larger, specialized unit, and all warriors would need to undergo further training, to adapt to what now seemed more and more likely to Legolas; unless the darkness was plucked from its roots, unless the tower and its occupants were brought down, the decay would spread, and the realm of Thranduil would, inexorably, be pushed back once more.

Yet he also knew that the darkness ran far deeper than that – the tower was but one residence of many others – even were they to pound it to the ground, smash its black stone walls into dust and slaughter those that inhabited it – it would only fester and reproduce. Sooner or later they would be overcome, the Greenwood, the Evergreen Wood, Lothlorien – the entire Middle Earth would be overrun. The only way to be rid of Him was to pluck his malignance from its nest, uproot it, cut the umbilical cord – and that was not be found at Dol Guldur, of this he had no doubt.

He had first put forward his project for a joint elven army at the Spring Festival at Imladris, almost a year ago now. The idea had been received with interest, and all had agreed to speak more on it in the future. ‘Well’, he thought, ‘perhaps that future has come’. He knew, deep down, that the Greenwood would not be able to deal with the enemy alone, for all that its army was, by far, the largest of the three major realms. They needed help, and soon; his project could not wait – he would need to implement it sooner than he had thought, for darkness was coming, and it was spiraling dangerously out of his control.

A warrior of The Company had been lost, two villages had been razed to the ground, and he himself had been forced into his role of Sîdhoneth, all in the space of a few months. His mood turned sour once more, as it was wont to do recently; his capacity to recover from his journeys into darkness was worsening, and he found himself struggling to bounce back and get on with the job, as he had always been able to do – until now. He was becoming irritable, moody, angry even – he was changing.

He was snapped brutally from his internal brooding by a commotion outside the door, before a dusty, panting warrior burst into it, a frantic Galdithion behind him who had not been able to stop him before he had stormed his lord’s office. Saluting his commander hurriedly, he began his dire report.

“My Lord, a pack of spiders, not three hours’ ride from the fortress to the South-west, moving northwards.”

“How many?” he asked urgently.

“Four at least, my Lord – my Lord, they are Red Fangs,” said the warrior pointedly, his forehead deeply furrowing, for this was the most dangerous of the many species that inhabited the forests, yet ‘what were they doing so far north?’ wondered the young warrior, his panicked mind repeated over and over – ‘how had they managed to get so close to the fortress?’

Legolas’ eyes bulged momentarily, for Red Fang were as large as they were poisonous, and his own mind followed the same path as the warrior who now stood before him with pleading eyes.

Striding into the main area of the barracks, he shouted his orders as he made his way to the stables.

“Company, to me!” he yelled, “Rafno, procure what medicine for Red Fang is to be had, five minutes and we ride, it is urgent!” he shouted. Dima and Rafno nodded, sharing a worried glance at each other before dashing away to comply with their orders, and in the case of Rafno, with his heart in his mouth.

Now mounted, yet still adjusting their equipment, they thundered down the path and through the mighty gates of the fortress. The civilians stopped to watch them, sending a prayer to Yavanna for their safe return, however much they knew not what had happened, and indeed, the wherefore of the urgency, for they had not been due to ride – this was something unforeseen, their sense of insecurity peaking once more. Galdithion stood to one side, watching as they galloped away, and he was suddenly struck by an odd sensation. It was not normal for spiders to breach the outer perimeter, and that did not bode well for his own Home Guards – for surely they must have encountered them – and succumbed, for no runner had been sent ahead from that unit …

Legolas yelled to his captain and lieutenants over the thundering roar of galloping hooves, only now briefing them on their mission.

“At least four Red Fang, three hours’ ride from here, to the South-west, rapidly moving northwards. We should encounter them in perhaps just over two hours, supposing they maintain their pace and direction, and that the Home Guard do not find them before we do, or indeed have not done so already ...”

Now, Glammo and Rafno had fought Yellow Bellies many times, knew their weak spots, what they were capable of, and the terror they struck in the heart, and yet although they had heard of the Red Fang, they had never encountered them. They were supposedly much bigger, stronger, and deadly poisonous. Their toxin could even be fatal should the unfortunate receiver be injected with a large enough amount of it; this was the reason that Balentar had volunteered on the exchange program, to find a quick and efficient anti-toxin to Red Fang poisoning. When Elladan had rushed into the halls in search of him and any medication to be had, Balentar’s eyes had bulged in horror. The potion was not ready, albeit he had made progress, but he needed more time, more experiments… and yet it may work to an extent, he thought, perhaps enough to save one who was not bitten too severely.

Barathon, like Glammo and Rafno, had never encountered this enemy, and he too, was more than a little apprehensive of what he would come across. As he glanced over at his comrades, he observed their faces as their hair streamed like silken banners behind them, revealing their determined features, their eyes set on the road ahead, their lips firmly shut and their jaws clenched. They seemed angry, outraged even, that this vermin should dare venture so very close to the fortress. It had never happened and the implications were unnerving, for they seemed to have understood that they could afford to do so – that even should they die, others would take their place, until the elves were driven back, their home lost once more.

Turning his own eyes back to the path, he wondered if he himself looked anything like they did, was he anything like they were? Did he provoke the same sensations they did in his people? Was he too, respected? Revered? Was he considered courageous and good? Did bards sing his praises, tell stories of his prowess? Was he loved? His mind began to look back on his time in The Company these past six months. So far, things had gone well, he thought. He knew he needed to work on his rapport with the others - they were wary of him, and Legolas simply did not trust him at all – he never had, thought Barathon with a grimace. It seemed that whatever he did was never good enough; just like his father, he thought bitterly as his mind, of a sudden, began to turn poisonous. His resentment sprang to the fore and he no longer thought of the good moments, but only the bad. He had no warrior name, he was ‘tolerated’, he remembered the slap that Tui’s mother had inflicted on him, in front of everyone, and if he were honest, the answer to his questions just a few moments before, was ‘no.’ It seemed to him then, that they all looked at him with disdain, sneered at him; looked down upon him as they mocked – ‘you are not good enough, you will never be good enough.’ He did not deserve this – he did not, and suddenly, he was no longer riding out to protect and defend, as their motto read, but to prove himself, and wipe the smug, arrogant sneers from their faces, silence their jeers, show Him that he was worthy …

And as Barathon suffered, immersed in his own world of anguish, Glammo, Rafno, Rhrawthir and Dorainen repeated their tutor’s words over and over again, internalizing and bringing to the fore the instruction they had received. ‘The only way to overcome Red Fang is team work. Warrior one, warrior two, archer – warrior one, warrior two, archer…’

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

After two hours of hard riding, Legolas called a halt and wheeled his horse around to face his warriors.

“We are close. Leave the horses here, we continue on foot. They are stationed in a glade just beyond this tree line. I want Barathon, Pengon, Koron, Nanern and Dorainen in the trees. I want Dima, Rafno, Glammo, Lindo, Ram en’, Rhrawthir and Idhreno on the ground, broad swords, not short. Remember, target their jaws and eyes, the body is almost impossible to pierce unless you can stab them between thorax and front legs, this will not kill but incapacitate, archers, aim for the joints, you will not kill but you will weaken them – and distract them enough for us to cut them down – if you can get a clear shot at the eye – you will kill it.” This he said for the newer members of The Company, for although they had been trained for this, he knew the impact the beasts would have, they needed reminding, however well they had learned, remembered. Fear erases rational thought, and he would not lose another warrior, another brother.

And with that, they loped through the forest until Hwindo held his hand up, for he could now hear their clicking noises, and the forest was quiet, no insects or birds sang here, and the trees where frozen in panicked anticipation.

Signaling with his hand, the designated archers pulled themselves aloft as the others followed their commander on the ground. Stealth was of the upmost importance now, for they needed to give the archers time to position themselves around the glade, each one strategically placed to provide cover for those battling on the ground. One chink in the plan would mean leaving two warriors exposed, without the much needed cover and distraction from the trees.

Once situated, they hooted to confirm their positions, until finally, Legolas had them all perfectly placed, each one exactly pinpoint in his mind.

Barathon watched the beasts from his branch, their stench sickening him to the stomach, their eyes sending fear into his very soul, for they were a sickly yellow, their black, gelatinous mouths worked constantly, their red pincers clicking incessantly as they communicated with each other. He wanted to hack them down, one after the other, gouge the eyes from their heads, there, on the ground, not here in the trees. He would show his cousin his worth, show him he could be a valuable member of The Company, and prove him wrong, prove them all wrong.

Glammo battled with his emotions as he watched the beasts, a sense of irrational dread suddenly invading his body and making him shudder. Closing his eyes to steady his mind, he opened them once more and trained them on those of Lindohtar, who was peering into the glade, his senses on full alert. Melven smiled indulgently then, remembering that once they were back at the fortress, he would speak to his lover, finally tell him that which had only become clear to him but a few scant weeks ago. Lindo turned his head then, catching Glammo’s gaze from afar and his eyes softened as his lips curved into a subtle smile, one that warmed his heart and eased the dread that had momentarily overcome him.

With one simple hand signal, the archers sent their first projectiles into the pack of clicking spiders, most of which simply clattered off the hard armored bodies. In the blink of an eye they had reloaded and shot once more; some arrows embedded themselves in the yellow bodies, but none were enough to bring them down, and the shrieking began as the spiders began to scutter towards the eight that would battle them on the ground, sending a jolt of terror into the hearts of the Noldo, for these were not spiders as they knew them, these – were monsters.

Elladan was breathing hard. He had never seen such an unnerving thing, for although they were, indeed, spiders, they were huge, towering over the tallest of elves by at least twice their height, yet they were broader than they were taller. When he had first heard there were only four of them, he had not been overly concerned except for the question of their fatal poison, and yet seeing them now, how wrong he had been! Bringing down just one of these beasts would be a feat indeed, the likes of which any warrior could boast. Yet there was nothing for it, and so he took long, deep breaths, and centred his mind as he had been taught.

After the third volley, the ground warriors moved in and the battle began with a mighty roar, their steel glinting in the fading afternoon sun. The Company worked in groups of two, for should one fall, the other would cover, and their archer would distract from the trees, it was the only way to battle this foe, they knew – warrior one, warrior two, archer … they repeated compulsively, arming themselves with courage and resolve, clearing their minds of everything except the task before them, all except Barathon, who waited patiently for his moment of glory to come.

Dima moved in with his sword, only to be swiped away, as Rafno took his place – the red pincer nearly skewering him as he rolled out of the way and an arrow was fired, hitting the spider in the leg and making it shriek in pain, the grating sound almost taking Glammo’s hands to his sensitive ears.

Ram en’ and Rhrawthir fought together, their foe raising its legs into the air and waving them about, each one moving in different directions – reflexes had to be fast in order to avoid them as they moved in with their blades.

A cheer went up then, as Rafno and Dima brought down their foe, their archer jumping from the trees and charging into the fray. Both warriors, now free, turned to help Glammo and Idhreno, who had taken a slash to the leg, although was still holding his ground, albeit with difficulty.

Hwindo and Lindo continued their sequences, Barathon frantically firing at the particularly large specimen that slashed and swiped as it screamed, stomping its pincers into the ground in an attempt to stab and inject its deadly load, sending clouds of dust and small stones into the air that stung their skin and obscured their vision.

Barathon fired over and over again, but to no avail – he could not bring it down for his arrows bounced uselessly off its thick armor. It was useless; he was not helping, and so, without a second thought, he decided that his time had come, jumping from the cover of the trees and running towards the beast that his cousin battled together with Lindohtar. Pengon’s eyes bulged when he realized just what Barathon had done, and the dire consequences for the two warriors on the ground, for he had not the ammunition to cover two positions, and without their distraction the beasts would be free to concentrate on the warriors before them. Barathon had broken the rules of the game, and his brothers’ lives were in the balance.

“Barathon!!!!!” he screamed from his tree, yet to no avail, for the wayward warrior was already moving in on the massive spider from the opposite direction.

“Nooooooo!!” he screamed, for he had read Barathon’s intentions and he wanted to cry in frustration as he continued to load and fire, load and fire, powerless to avoid what now seemed inevitable. His world loss focus, his eyes stung and his heart pounded in dreadful anticipation.

It was Dima who heard his comrade’s desperate scream and his head whipped over to Pengon’s position, finding him alone as he fired desperately. ‘Where was Barathon? Where…’

Just as Rafno moved in with a killing blow to the spider before them, Dima caught sight of the missing warrior. Time seemed to stand still and everything blurred around him, everything except the warrior behind the beast that Lindo and the commander were fighting. His skin sent needles of sharp pain through his body and his heart plummeted to the ground as his breath left him.

“Nooo!!!!” he screamed, as he began a mad dash to Barathon’s position, dodging the wildly stabbing pincer, still shouting frantically as he sprinted towards him, “Barathon, move, move!!” and yet it was too late, for the prince heard him not, or if he did, he would not heed his captain. One of the spider’s legs had swiped at Lindo and sent him crashing to the floor, bringing Hwindo to his side to cover, yet before he could move in for the killing blow, the shrill scream of a fatally wounded spider split the air, sending it crashing forwards and onto the two warriors that had confronted it with a mighty crash, and Barathon behind, his sword still poised proudly after the fatal blow.

Dima skidded to a halt, his eyes still on Barathon, before he slowly turned to see for himself the consequences of the prince’s stupidity. He vaguely heard the remaining spider shriek as it crashed to the ground in the distance, and then the desperate scream of Ram en’, making him flinch as he finally turned towards his commander’s position.

“Hwindooo!!!”

Mere seconds passed as the echo of Ram en’s despair resounded through the glade, and yet it seemed an eternity to Glammo, who stood rooted to the spot, not quite understanding what he was seeing as clearly as day, for Lindo lay inert beneath the beast, his eyes half closed.

They all reacted then, all except Barathon who stared on in paralyzed horror at the sight before him. This was supposed to be a moment of glory, and yet two of his detachment lay beneath the beast he had brought down – ‘why had they not moved out of the way, for surely they had seen him?’

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Hwindo’s dazed mind told him that it should, logically, have fallen backwards, yet it had crashed atop him, forcing the air from his lungs. And then, he could not remember having delivered a killing blow at all; he had been about to when it had happened.

He heard Ram en’ scream, but he could not move, and felt oddly unconcerned by it.

At first, he did not understand what was wrong with him. He heard a desperate scream, was that Ram en’ too? ‘Has it bitten me?’ he wondered - No, for he would have felt his body slipping into paralysis by now. Lindo, however, had surely been reached, for even now, the clutch of his hand in his own was slackening.

He heard more screaming then – Dima? Not Lindo, he would be paralyzed by now, who then?’ He could not say, for he was dazed and he could not breathe. Were his elves safe? Had they vanquished their foes? What was wrong with him? he wondered, as the sound of his own desperate, labored breathing became louder and louder, until it was the only thing he could here and everything else faded into the background – almost.

He squeezed Lindo’s hand, and his desperate clasp was weakly returned by the Bard warrior, whose soft words floated into Legolas’ subconscious mind, for the commander was not quite aware of what his companion was saying, only that he was speaking, with great effort. All he could do was stroke his thumb over the hand still inside his own, offering what comfort he could to Lindo.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Ram en’, Koron! Secure the site; Pengon, Glammo, to me! yelled Dimaethor desperately as he rushed over to the now dead spider, its jaw locked open, its stinger inside Lindo’s shoulder, and beside him Hwindohtar, obviously wounded, yet how he could not say, for only his head and shoulders were visible.

“Oh Valar, no, NOOO!” cried Dima, as he began to shove the black body that hardly moved under his savage assault, however Legolas had cried out at this slight movement and Rafno held out his hands for him to stop as he moved over to the half-covered lord, whose face was ashen, his brow sweaty, his breathing shallow and thready.

“Retrieve my pack, Pengon, quickly,” ordered Rafno as he knelt beside the fallen warriors.

Rushing back with the cloth bag, the healer took the vial of Balentar’s medicine and handed it to Glammo, who sat in shock beside his lover’s head. “It is not an antidote, I know, but it will lessen the effects until we can get him back to Antien and Balentar,” he explained, as he found the sedative he would give to Legolas. He knew not the nature of the wound, but there was no doubt it was serious, for the commander was in agony, and Rafno well knew that his threshold was high.

Glammo poured the vial into Lindo’s lax mouth with the help of Ram en’, while Rafno did likewise with Hwindo.

“Legolas, open your mouth, swallow this,” he coaxed.

Rafno’s eyes frantically scanned the area for any clue as to what had happened. As soon as the carcass had been touched, Legolas had screamed. His years of training told him that he had either been pierced or crushed. If it were the latter, there was no avoiding the pain that removing the carcass would cause, but if he had been pierced, they could kill him.

He glanced at Dima, who hovered next to him along with the others, his mien one of anguish and absolute disbelief – and for the first time, Rafno was witness to the loss of Dima’s considerable self-control. He saw it then, the pool of bright red blood that began to seep out from under the spider.

“He is pierced, Dima, though I know not how.”

Legolas’ lips moved then, as he tried to tell them what was wrong. After a few failed attempts at producing voice, he gave up, in favour of a gasp as his face once more contorted and his breath was stolen away by another wave of agony.

“Legolas, tell me, how are you hurt?”

There was no answer, as he tried desperately to control the pain, even out his ragged breathing, yet he was failing miserably as white spots danced prettily before his eyes. His ears began to ring, until the ring turned into a full-blown roar, his eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness.

“Legolas!” shouted Elladan, “stay with me, Hwindo, do not sleep!” but it was too late, the commander had lost his battle and now lay as insensate as Lindo, who’s brow was being tenderly stroked by a distraught Glammo, willing the anti-toxin to take some sort of effect.

Sighing, Rafno turned to Dima as he explained what he knew had to be done. “We must proceed with caution, my best bet is that a leg is inside him,” he explained, “I say we saw it off the beast before we move it – Dima?”

“Alright,” whispered the captain, his eyes swam yet he was so glad that Rafno had taken charge of the situation, for he felt utterly lost, for the first time in his considerable experience as a captain.

Rafno simply nodded as he took Legolas’ head in his hands, alarmed at how chilled his flesh was, his breath coming in harsh gasps, in spite of the fact that he was unconscious, and he prayed that this was nothing to do with his lungs.

The Company had almost finished securing the sight, their faces grave, nostrils flared, jaws clenched tight - for they had suffered two potentially fatal injuries, one to their king and commander, no less. And Barathon just stood there, on the perimeter. No one looked at him, no one acknowledged his presence in the slightest – for he had disobeyed his orders, and this was the result.

Dima finally sawed through the leg, and, with the help of Pengon and Koron, they lifted the carcass away from the two fallen warriors, blanching at what they saw.

Lindo lay insensate upon the ground beside Hwindo, their hands firmly entwined. The stub of a black leg protruded from the commander’s side, just under the ribcage, his entire torso a sea of red.

“Help me?” said the healer quietly, frantically trying to stay the tears that welled up in his anguished eyes, for this was surely a fatal blow.

“Yes,” answered Dima automatically, his voice wavering unsteadily as he rose to stand over his commander, taking the leg in both hands, watching Rafno for a sign to withdraw it.

Elladan slid one hand down Legolas’ back, and his eyes suddenly bulged, for he could feel how the body was pinned tight. He turned his head to Dima once more, his face a sea of misery.

“Dima, the leg has gone right through and is stuck in the ground. We must only loosen it but NOT remove it from him, do you understand?”

“I – understand, you must guide me, Rafno, tell me when to stop.”

Fortunately it did not take long for Elladan to feel how the body separated from the floor, instantly giving Dima the order to stop. But the healer’s worry heightened, when blood trickled from the side of Legolas’ mouth.

“Dima, we must hurry…” whispered Rafno as he first applied a massive wad of bandaging around the leg that pierced his friend – it seemed ridiculous to cover such damage with a mere roll of bandage, but it was all he had. He then carefully separated Hwindo’s hand from that of Lindo, not without considerable difficulty, for they were clasped tightly, their fingers firmly interlaced. Dima simply nodded gravely as he and his warriors took their commander as gently as they could and positioned him before a now mounted Rafnohtar, moving the pliant limbs so that he would not fall during the ride back.

Lindo was hoisted atop Glammo’s horse, his lovely head lolling back into the crook of his arm, as he placed a soft kiss to his sweaty brow, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the other members of The Company, who nodded solemnly at the lieutenant who had earned their love and respect.

The rest of the troupe had saddled up and surrounded the two fallen warriors and the healer, yet Barathon had been excluded from the circle, nobody would look upon him, speak to him, acknowledge him, his horse ambling behind him, dejected and bereft.

Rafno was worried, more than he would admit to the warriors, for the pain should have brought him back to the surface, yet it had not, and so he began to wonder if his friend had slipped into a coma – the blood loss would certainly give credit to his supposition, for it now flowed down his thigh, dripping onto the steed’s blanket and down its belly.

Dima approached Barathon and looked at him for the first time since the incident, his face a cool mask of indifference.

“Ride ahead with Pengon. Speak not until you arrive, when you will report to commander Bandorion and give your report – be precise. You will then stay away from The Company until further notice – for your own good. Now go.”

Nodding curtly, he galloped away behind Pengon, his heart in his mouth as he thought of what to say to his father.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

They were still a way from the gates, but Pengon’s mad yelling had been heard well before. He had screamed from afar at the guards to open the gates, the phrase “warriors down” working its magic, his request immediately obeyed as the gates groaned and cracked open, enough for the two steeds to charge through.

Of course the commotion had alerted the healing halls, as Antien and Balentar ran out, still tying their long aprons around their waists; they had half been expecting this to happen since The Company had galloped out with urgency just a few hours before.

Barathon rode past the halls, further down the path before dismounting and coming face to face with his father, as Pengon jumped down from his frantic steed, turning to face the two healers.

“What is it?” asked Antien, taking in the warrior’s appearance. He was filthy and bloodied, cut in many places, his left hand badly chafed, a slight tremble to it – and his eyes, his eyes swam and the light of incomprehension shone from them.

Pengon glanced at Barathon, satisfied to see him talking to his father, who was now striding towards them, apparently having heard enough from his son.

“The commander and Lindohtar are down. Lindo took a full pool of Red Fang, Antien!”

“Oh no,” he whispered, looking at Balentar. “If you have made any progress at all in your investigation, anything, my friend, now is the time to try it. And what of commander Legolas?” asked Antien.

Pengon’s face turned ashen as the remembered the horrific sight – “A – a spider leg, through the side, he loses much blood…”

Antien was struck speechless for a moment as his mind registered the words. However it was mere seconds before he rushed inside, calling to his healers and assistants, explaining what was to be prepared, as Balentar rushed in behind him and to his desk; he would try the antitoxin he was working on, not the one he had given to Rafno but another, more experimental one, for there was nothing to lose, he thought, as he began to prepare the vials.

Bandorion had followed them both, and now stood patiently behind the master healer until he turned to face him.

“Tell me, Antien, is it that serious?” he asked, dreading the answer he would receive.

“Legolas’ life is certainly in danger, Prince Bandorion. You should warn the king, my Lord. Lindo is almost definitely lost to us, unless Balentar’s new antitoxin works.”

Bandorion was shocked. Legolas had been wounded many times, gravely so, but he had never heard Antien express himself so negatively. His heart began to race as he thought of the implications. His son had disobeyed an order and by his own words, this had led to the unfortunate chain of events that had resulted in the probable loss of two warriors, amongst them, the king’s son, king in his own right, Yavanna’s beloved protégé.

He called to a nearby warrior and sent him running to the king’s offices with the news. The troupe would arrive any minute now, and then chaos would ensue, he knew. There were already many civilians gathering at the gates, family and friends of The Company, all dreading what they would see in but a few minutes, for the healing halls had been alerted and were now on full alert, a flurry of activity within as masters and apprentices alike prepared to receive the injured warriors.. A tense silence had descended over them, and they waited - hands clasped before them, anguish in their eyes and pain in their hearts for the injured, for the evil that simply would not leave them be, for it lashed out in spite at every opportunity, bit into their souls and shook them violently as a wolf does its prey.

Barathon stood, dusty and filthy, his heart hammering in his chest and his mind screaming in agony, incomprehension and suffering; his father stood watching him a way away, tears welling in his eyes, for the wounded, for his son, and for himself.

‘Yavanna, what have I done?’ he begged, ‘What have I done?’
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Arcane Land