13th birthday insta-drabbles! by RaisingCaiin

Chapter 3

Moonlit, leaf-fringed, perplexed, descended (prompt from hhimring)

If Beleg had somehow had the time to think, to explain, then he might have assigned much of the blame for what happened to the night itself: storm-stricken, moonlit, and only darkened further by dancing, leaf-fringed shadows. A bad night by any standards, and worse still, utterly unconducive to Mannish eyes or frightened minds.

And if somehow he had had a little time more – time enough to understand what was happening, or to make his peace with it before it did – then he might have seen that Túrin looked more perplexed than happy at having been cut free.

Much as if the Man did not know that this was what had happened to him.

As if instead he had imagined that the sting of a blade to his foot had been an enemy’s touch, rather than the inadvertent slip of a dear friend.

But in truth there was no time for any of this before Anglachel’s dark blade descended.