Pretty Birds

There are two horses racing across this eastbound road through the moors. It isn\'t really a road, however, more of a faintly downtrodden piece of earth that becomes harder and harder to distinguish. The black mare is in the lead, and atop her, a black-cloaked rider whose golden curls occasionally escape their guise. There\'s an uncomfortable, squishing sound from somewhere near Muirgheal- it\'s her wet breeches. They crossed the ford early in the morning and have been riding hard ever since. For now, the comfort of afternoon light lingers, but in a few minutes, it will be time to set up camp before darkness swallows all here. Black eyes scan ahead, looking for rocks in the path, and there\'s plenty to try to steer around.

Equally as damp, though not so bothered by it as her companion might be, is the elleth Rochwen. Pale fingers are woven through a mismatched mane as Fainrandis takes the ground at a gallop, as though the breeze were carrying her heels. Though they have been riding hard for a long stretch of time, the mare seems to have had a bit of her energy renewed since the crossing of the Bruinen. As the why, it might very well remain a mystery, but the mare carries her rider swiftly nonetheless. The lightest change of weight and the tap of a heel, and the mare and elleth come up side by side with the black mare, matching pace easily.

Muirgheal turns her head a little as Rochwen catches up to her on Fainrandis. \"What do you think, mellon? Ready to stop for the night? I could try telling another spooky- Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!\" Aurlalaith has done the inevitable: her foot has found a rock that she could not quickly overcome. Muirgheal goes flying up over the black mare\'s neck, and lands beyond in the dirt road with a terrible crack. She\'s lucky that she does not hit a rock, but she is within reach of the steely hooves. Aurlalaith cannot slow down so quickly. Muirgheal rolls out of the way, into the brush, and shudders horribly, then lies still.

Rochwen is beginning to spare a glance to her friend, when the everything suddenly unfolds - Aurlalaith\'s harsh neigh of surprise, Muirgheal flying over the Elvish mare\'s neck, and a horrible snap of something. Just as quickly Aurlalaith is digging her hooves into the dirt to keep from hitting her mistress, and the blonde rolls. Fainrandis is swift to react, gather her hindquarters and heaving herself into the air to avoid the woman. Elf and horse come down heavily, though, and Rochwen is fighting to stay astride. Concern soon overcomes her though, and she slides to the ground, running to the bush where Muirgheal took shelter. She falls to her knees beside the woman, hesitant to lay a hand on her just yet. \"Muirgheal, mellon, can you hear me?\" she demands.

Oh, it\'s so very dark...and that annoying sound...is someone speaking to her? It\'s hard to tell through the pain in her head. Where is she? Why does everything hurt so much? Muirgheal blinks open black eyes, though her vision is swimming. She manages to finally focus on Rochwen. \"Suuuure pretty lady, everything is great! I\'m just lying in a bush and would please like to know how I got here, please.\" Muirgheal moans. \"And why do I keep saying please?\" She tries to push herself up with her arms, but one hangs down at her side still, limp as a rag doll\'s and impossible to move.

Before Muirgheal can move further, Rochwen sets a strong hand on the shoulder of the good arm. \"Lie still, my friend, flat on your back and do not move,\" she instructs, her Healer\'s mindset alreading setting in. Blue-gold eyes look over the limp arm, quick and calculating, before she meets the blonde\'s gaze. \"If you can, tell me your name?\" she asks. A moment, then, \"And if you can, mine as well.\"

Muirgheal just laughs. \"You\'re really funny. Of course I know my own name! What kind of person doesn\'t know their name! Now if you\'ll be quiet, I\'m trying to watch the birds. Shhhhh.\" She blinks peacefully up into an empty sky. At least she is lying still, not trying to sit up or to move her limp arm any further.

Rochwen keeps her hand on Muirgheal\'s shoulder, turning toward the horses. \"Fainrandis,\" she calls, though the rest is spoken in Elvish. The mare comes, along with Aurlalaith, who seems no worse for wear over the stumble. The mare fidgets, though, shifting her weight from hoof to hoof as she watching Muirgheal attentively. The gray mare brings the waterskin from Aurlalaith\'s saddle, dropping it to the ground beside the elf. Rochwen quickly uncaps the container, before...upending the chilly contents onto the woman.

Muirgheal yells again. With the sun beginning to slip down and turn the sky the color of embers, she could attract unwelcome visitors with her noisemaking. \"Kiern, woman! What are you doing to me? That\'s cold!\" She spits out some water that slipped past her lips, and reaches up with her good hand to push dampened curls off her forehead and out of her eyes. \"What was that for?\" Muirgheal demands. For the first time, she looks at her arm, and her brow furrows when she cannot move it at all.

What might be a satisfied smirk curves the elleth\'s lips, but her expression just as quickly changes to one of calm. \"You were mumbling about birds, mellon, and pretty ones too,\" Rochwen says simply, setting the waterskin aside. \"Now, who are you, and who am I?\"

\"There were birds.\" Muirgheal insists stubbornly. Does her lower lip stick out just a bit? If so, it\'s in an ever-so-charming way. \"My name is Muirgheal Coruceil, of Rohan and Dunland, wife of Rhifaroth, princess of nowhere.\" A rather big flourish on her name, to assure Rochwen that she is altogether within her right mind again. \"You are Rochwen...er...do elves have last names?\" She looks confused again, but in a more normal way. More pressing, she asks, \"What\'s wrong with my arm?\"

Rochwen smiles just a touch, even as she moves to inspect Muirgheal\'s limp left arm. Her fingers are slow, careful and precises as she gently touches the limb. She frowns, before taking a small herb knife from her belt. This she uses to cut the fabric of the shirt sleeve away, so she can inspect the arm properly. \"You are forgetting a part, I think: \'Noruiwen\',\" she says as she works. \"And I am not familiar with what a...last name is.\" She glances up briefly, that troublesome half-smile upon her face. \"I am simply Rochwen, daughter of Hargam and Cristwen of the house of Teleralda, Rochdur a Nethril.\" Well, perhaps she cannot beat her friend on the subject of names and length titles. She moves her fingers along the arm again, pressing here and there, looking for something...

\"You know, surnames...\" Muirgheal prompts, but to no avail. She smiles at the use of her Sindarin name, and then shrugs her shoulders. \"I don\'t know what a Rochdur,\" she butchers the unfamiliar word slightly, \"is, but I\'m sure you\'re an excellent one. You\'re a good friend, too, Ro- Argh! Ah! Oh, please, stop that!\" The healer has got Muirgheal shouting again, as she has found the sorest spot on her injured arm: a break at the elbow. Panting now, dizzy from the pain, the golden haired lady grins a little. \"At least it wasn\'t my sword arm, right?\" Then, a look to her mare, \"Is LaLaith\'s hoof alright to travel?\"  Muirgheal frowns down at her left arm. \"It really hurts,\" she sulks. She adds suddenly, \"And I miss Uannve.\" That\'s an even sorer spot with her than her elbow.

\"Rochdur is the Sindarin word for \'groom\',\" Rochwen says, speaking the word slowly so her friend might repeat it. Perhaps Muirgheal will catch the similiarity between that word and the elleth\'s name, but...perhaps another time, for Rochwen stops her fingers as the blonde cries out. She frowns, closing her eyes as she inspects the sore spot, all her attention focused on it. After a long moment, she opens her eyes again. \"A break, mellon, but a clean one,\" she says. \"I...can set the bone, and we might secure it so that it will heal rightly on its own - even with all the riding we will be doing.\" At this, she glances up to the black mare. \"I have not yet checked her hoof, but she has walked a bit, and looks fine so far.\"

The sun is fighting a losing battle to keep on shining.   It has almost completely left the land as Rochwen has been tending to her friend, and dinner needs to be cooked, bedrolls spread out in a much better chosen area than this forsaken road.  Muirgheal nods grimly, “Let’s set it, then.”  A shy look at Rochwen, “But I wouldn’t stop you from giving me something for the pain.”  Then she studies her mare, waiting patiently beside Fainrandis.  “I’m glad she’s alright.  I was careless, as usual.  And now Uannve isn’t even here to remind me about proper travel procedure.  I deserved the broken arm.”  Still, for all her talk, she sounds anything but happy or accepting of her unexpected injury.

\"You do not deserve a broken arm,\" Rochwen chastises, though it is halfhearted. The elleth is more focused on rummages through her pack, before she produces the a small clump of herbs, setting them in her working hand. \"Take this, and chew it for a good minute, then swallow,\" she instructs. While she waits for this to happen, she says, \"We...are close to the Valley, I believe. Fainrandis senses it as well, did almost as soon as we crossed the ford Aurlalaith did as well, I think.\" A glance to the mare, then back to Muirgheal. \"If you want, I would suggest we travel there as soon as we might. My kin might have heard something of your husband, and we can resupply if further travel is needed.\"

\"Yes I do deserve it,\" Muirgheal grumbles under her breath, but she lets it go, watching Rochwen hand her a mysterious bundle of green things. She narrows her dark eyes. \"I\'m supposed to put that in...my mouth..?\" She makes a face, but uses her good arm to do what Rochwen bids. \"Hrm. The valley, huh?\" She\'s busy chewing on the herbs, but says around them, \"I guess that would be okay. Rhifaroth would want us to act with good sense, and I\'ve not been doing much of that. Getting more supplies sounds like it makes sense. Does that mean...blindfolded?\" She sighs, softly, but smiles a little too. She would love to see the valley again.

\"Tell me when you begin to have trouble speaking,\" Rochwen says simply, \"Or you cannot feel when my fingers press against the break.\" She frowns, slowly beginning to prod the injury again. \"If we ride to the Valley, we can resupply and rest for a day or two,\" she says, \"And...yes, blindfolded.\" There is sadness and apology in her voice. \"But the horses will walk, and Aurlalaith will not let you lose your way.\"

\"I can\'t feel much anymore,\" Muirgheal tells her friend. She even yawns. She has been going on little sleep for too long. \"I think resting sounds great,\" the young woman murmurs, and closes her eyes as Rochwen starts to fix the break. \"I don\'t even mind the blindfold,\" she says peacefully. \"It\'s my weapons I don\'t like giving up..\" her voice drifts dreamily out into the sunset.