Beneath the Bitter Rain by bunn

1

The gardens were ashes behind them, burned and brown and dead. 

Fimbrethil was bowed and burned, scarred with knife and axe. Beside her, Erchoril was little better off, leaning heavily on her support. 

Fimbrethil stumbled, and Echoril put a gnarled arm out. Together they paused, looked backwards across the knotted hills. 

Above the ruin of their gardens, lightning sheeted across the sky, hideously bright. Against the dead whiteness of the sky, a leafless tree outlined black. 

“We could go to the Entwood,” Echoril said at last. Her voice grated with smoke. 

Fimbrethil met her green-gold eyes, and managed a laugh. “Oh no. Oh no, my love. All that is as lost as the rose-gardens of Bellhedhrindor in the morning dew.” She caught herself, leaf-hair shaking and hesitated. “Or at least.. Is that your wish?” 

Echoril leaned against her. The bark on her sides was comfortingly harsh. 

“Nay,” she said. “That was lost long ago. I’ll follow thee still, if thou’lt go onward.”

 “I will,” Fimbrethil said. “Let’s leave old mistakes in the past where they belong.”