Tolkien Meta Week Starts December 8!
Join us December 8-14, here and on Tumblr, as we share our thoughts, musings, rants, and headcanons about all aspects of Tolkien's world.
Rían staggers over the last miles, her throat parched and her feet dragging in the dust. When she sees the green mound before her, she lets herself drink the last few drops in her waterskin. She reaches it and falls; her fingers touch soft grass, and then her sight grows dark.
“Rían. Rían, beloved. Wake up.”
“Huor,” she whispers, her lips barely moving.
“You must not die here, beloved. Take rest, and then return to the green lands.”
When she wakes up, her waterskin is full again. She squares her shoulders, and rises unsteadily for the journey back across Anfauglith.