~Pt2 - A Champion from Upbourn
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Koteas shifted to lean his back against the wall, bunching his cloak under him for more comfort. The stable floor below was still damp from the rain and up here he had a perfect view of the waterfall to the Northwest. Behind his perch, over the roof of the stables, Trestlebridge still smoked and smoldered. The people waiting on edge for the orc tribes posted just past on the Greenway to attack again. Orcs of a kind he had never before seen.
He'd taken so little time to stop and think lately.
Now, he propped his wrists over his knees and let the recent events of days past sink in.
They hadn't killed him on the trek from Upbourn to what would have been his final prison only because he kept the horses hale and quiet. After the abuse the brigands dealt them through the day, at least he could offer them a soothing groom at night while the thieves drank and boasted.
Then the ranger had broken him free. Admittedly he had not listened well to the tales and warnings Strider spoke on their escape to Archet, still feeling outside of himself. As if he'd walked into someone else' strange and terrifying dream.
Since then, thoughts of home were merely an inkling in the back of his mind.
Rangers, hobbits, elves, dwarves.
He'd never seen an elf before. They were beautiful, yet possessed a sadness that emanated from their core. A thing born in a way he could not begin to comprehend.
Hobbits, of course his family had dealings with them through their farm. His father often took him along to trade pipe weed and strawberries with the holbytlan and he had always enjoyed being near their company.
Dwarves, another mystery. But a sturdy folk that inspired strength within himself. Their knowledge of metal and fire and forging them together to craft fine protective armours was incredible indeed and he would learn all he could from them in this way, and likely more.
Orcs, wights, goblins and those horrifying... things. The threat of Mordor leaked now to every corner of the lands he traveled and help was needed everywhere he stepped foot. Truly wolves and bears were the least of the Peoples worries these days.
He thought of the crew he'd taken up with. Fine folk in their own right. Though most had not the slightest clue of the dangers they truly faced, content to boast of their middling battles against the encroaching wildlife around Bree. Let them have their drink and festivities if it kept them sane. In a few among them he sensed a similar mind. There is a deeper worry. He could not black out all that he had taken in or the nagging that if more was not done, soon there would be nothing to celebrate. Or even that, now, there was no reason to attempt to go home to Upbourn, for likely there was nothing left there to go home to.
He set his spear and axe on the roof next to him, placed his hand over their hilts as he slid to lay his head on the roof and began drifting off with the view of that waterfall foggily pulling him into an un-restful, but much needed, sleep.