Warrior Of Light [Complete/Editing]

Chapter Fourteen - Part One

Sodden and miserable, everyone halted for a mid-day meal. Edileth and her companions formed a tight circle, huddling together to gain any warmth possible. The rain had pounded incessantly, and the wind had only worsened the situation, sending icy-cold drops of precipitation beneath skirts and cloaks. Even as the elves began eating, the sky released a steady drizzle.

Yena fussed over Marrik, tut-tutting the predicament as she fought to keep his wound dry.

"Oi, why don't ya just cover his stichin's?"

"Gracious, no; that would not do. His incision must stay clean, dry, and uncovered."

Looking like a drowned rat, Torben crouched beside Marrik. Taking care to keep his actions out of sight of Jich's party, he held his hand parallel to Marrik's wound. Rainwater dripped from his palm as he whispered foreign words. Edileth detected a subtle blue glow that soon dissipated. Once finished, Torben returned to his place and Yena sat beside him, planting a kiss on his wet cheek.

Edileth studied his face, recalling how surprised she had been when she first met him several summers past. She had never seen an elf with such signs of age. Even the oldest elves she had met possessed only the faintest lines of wrinkling. Torben's aging surpassed even theirs, subtle though the difference was. She was led to believe he had seen just over sixty summers, but as she took in the details of his features, she wondered if he was not older than she had been told.

As if feeling her gaze upon him, Torben turned to Edileth. "Enári?"

"Forgive me, Uncle. I was lost in thought."

"Don't become too lost; we have need of you yet on Naine Mithale." He smiled, and Edileth returned the gesture.

She tucked her head farther into the drenched fabric of the hood. Quivering with chill, she continued taking surreptitious glances at Torben.

'Seems rather old, don't he?'

Edileth tensed at the sound of Sheem's voice. When she felt a gentle tap on her right shoulder, she turned.

If Torben had appeared like a drowned rat, Sheem seemed like one that had then been flattened under a wagon's wheel. His matted hair hung in odd clumps and his fair skin seemed paler still. His clothes, which she now realized were too small for his growing body, clung to his lanky frame.

A deep sense of pity rose in Edileth and – defying her will – tears threatened to fill her eyes.

"What's this?" Torben's voice returned Edileth's attention to the others.

She placed her hand on the boy's shoulder and introduced him to her companions. "He goes by Sheem. He has no family."

"You are welcome to join our humble group, Sheem." Yena smiled as she looked between him and Edileth.

Sheem expressed his gratitude and settled next to Edileth. She pulled her pack into her lap and retrieved the spare woolen cloak she had been reserving until the rain ceased. She offered it to Sheem and he – with wide eyes and lifted brows – accepted the gift.

'Thank you.' He wrapped the cloak about his shoulders and began pulling the hood over his head.

Edileth stopped him, placing a hand on his. She had retrieved a parcel of vaile and, after placing it in his lap, took a comb from her pack. When she tried to give him the comb, Sheem looked at it as though he had never seen one.

"Your hair is a mess. I thought you might wish to get some of the knots out. It will be more comfortable."

Sheem blinked twice and glanced at the comb again. Then – using one hand to eat the vaile and the other taking hold of the comb – he attacked the ratted disarray that was his hair. Edileth's brows lifted, and she bit her lip to restrain the laughter trying to burst from her. Sheem 'combed' his hair with all the delicacy of a warrior slaughtering his enemy on the battlefield.