Alright, so I haven't posted anything of EW for a while so I wondered if you could tell me how you think I am going with this. It doesn't make much sense even if you have read the other parts, since this is from a different part of the story... thanks!
Oh, and could you tell me if you think this is a little... over the top?
****************************************
When finally he broke from the trees, Aedomir fell to the ground, staggering into the dirt. “You and I must now forgo that strange hunter, strange man, and I know not where to go. I wish you could speak to me, Scar. My strength will only carry me to a place fit for content rest now, and my mortal eyes are weary, seeing no darkness to the east. Its hands will not thrust grope into wild lands of exiles, rather sweep for fresh pickings along the path.” A warm drop of water slid down his cheek. Aedomir cringed. A tear?
He looked up into the light, seeing it was not only the sun to garnish the beauty. Mountains of white and orange sparkled fantastically under a far brightness, and not a cloud floated amid the sky. “My love is left me and now, all my days remain alike,” so spoke Aedomir. “Why do the courses of the world around us change so differently hour upon week? Oh Seridon! Your nobility is sceptred!”
Through this, his mind tarried in two. For once, just whither his spirit dreamed would lead a road, now he faced a troubling decision. Should he veer to the east, before turns of tired dawns and dusks steal and claim him? Or go yon through the wilderness, risking rot at the threshold of conquest?
So pondering, they broke to winding dirt tracks, unsurely marked as for many days of late they had seen no other creatures, be friend or foul. Dark weeds passed over the edges but thinned as they moved on, until the plants were flooded by grass and the kind. By then, ever was Scar close to Aedomir, heavy against his side.
Shadow cloaked everywhere—be it the laden darkness of the leaves, or the path by which his foot pressed, Aedomir could see the darkness looming beneath every crease of grass, tree and cloud. Wind rustled upon the leaves, and every now and again he would shoot his eyes around him, panting heavily. He felt so exposed, as if parted from the sun on a tightrope.
For a while, the air was as thick as the foliage around them, and Aedomir could foreshadow the silence. He spoke no word, and instead leeward by foot, he moved farther on, austerely listening to the wind. But soon, there was new breath and enveloping them was an ancient breeze. It was in this that Aedomir noticed a fouler, grimacing change in the air.
“What is that noise?” he said quietly to Scar. “The low wind creeps.” A cool, sharp noise raced through, and they paused awhile hearing the breeze. Suddenly, there was a cry. It howled loud, piercing. Many voices answered. Aedomir shot back—for from Scar, as loud as the horn of battle, a deafening cry wailed. Aedomir stumbled back, flummoxed.
Many blaring horns peaked, and in answer Aedomir gasped, rushing down the wood path. Some roared, calling. Aedomir hurried to a brink in the road, mystified by Scar—both angry and confused. He prayed they had not been scented nor heard, but he feared he knew the answer. To this devilry – since this world carried little else – that proceeded nearby, he feared of Seridon’s part, and if they answered to him. But nay, he thought, for Seridon proved loyal through their short amity. But nonetheless, he wondered if he entitled that name too leniently: friend. Out in this sky, Aedomir could see by clear sight grey, dark clouds massed high, and darkening all the landscape. It was not long before the air turned dull, as rain set loose to many millions of droplets, all cold and silvery-white. Arm cringing on the hilt of his blade, he looked around, in search of the noise, and noticed a small parting in the plants. Aedomir beheld a strange sight, for as he looked between the weeds, he saw he lay at the top of a hill. At the end of a slope, many rocks piled together, and descended into the ground, shaping an entrance to the mountainside. Before it stood a dark figure, of whose face Aedomir could not make out.
“Lo! To the distance, Scar,” he whispered.
Scar moved gently closer towards him, and fell upon the ground. The dry grass soon parted, and blots of blood filled the gaps. “Scar, please! We must not linger.” He glanced back, pressing aside the high-flying stems. The figure had gone, and no trace could be seen, yet the cavern remained, silent and still. There was something about the duller grass and the churning mist about it, which drew Aedomir’s eye, dropping in awe his face.
Yet again, something drew them back.
His eyes shattered with tears as he looked now upon Scar, and felt a side of him throb with disgrace, both for himself and his sword—what honour was there in flight? Every blink he made, Aedomir’s woes would sink him deep, clasping him shut with great jaws. Now in light, he longed for a healing for Scar, who rested peacefully upon the grass. He cursed the blade by his side yet still no wit about him would let him muster strength for penance, and none to ask for it.
“Gather up your sombre shading, please,” he whimpered. “These hands may not heal you, but let them lead you to some who might.” He looked back to the rocks. “We may be not travelling far this night. Be friend or foe, we are called this hour. Who these horns belong to, I should like to a find a little more of.”
#
They heaved themselves down the slope, until they were cast into a wide grove. Aedomir looked upon the grass, and for a moment could picture skies, and patterns of tree-children skipping upon the green shores. The vision snapped from his grasp. About them were many dead brambles, thickets and lumber—as blackened as the heart of darkness. But like a grail the cavern stood, more majestic and great than anything before it. Aedomir sighed at the thought—there was no wonder about it, simply several rocks bound into the side of a hill.
The ground trembled, Scar collapsed silently, and at once Aedomir’s heart froze within the clutch of his body. The horns blared again, carrying the bellows in broken song. His eyes were thrown to the trees, clad upon the sides of the undergrowth. Some began to rustle, as the sounds rose in volume and heed. “Quickly!” he cried to Scar, and Aedomir threw them into the gloom of the cave, landing with a thud against the rock.
