datseabass:

               A lie, folly, should she declare herself unafraid. Flesh chilled and pale in the shaded world beneath thick rock, breath hanging so evidently in the air about her. The comfort of her small flame no longer reaches her ------ fire does not feel warm close to her hand and instead it seems she stands as ice, buried beneath weighty fear that threatens to choke her.

                No words come, though pale lips do part, only a small sound of uncertainty. The world about her is alive, the dearth ever-growing. Once sturdy stone now feels weak beneath her feet as all of reality seems just to close in around her. Freda shakes her head, tendrils of once-golden hair now cast grey upon wetted cheeks.

                    ‘ I know not ------------ ’

                She cannot tell who she speaks with; what she speaks with. Yet an entity demands her attention, and she is not fool enough to ignore the ghosting voice, the deathly ( though so curiously delicate ) grip on her hair. Her back straightens, not a muscle nor sinew lapsed or at rest. Sense tells her to flee, to seek some hope that her eyes will find light once more, but her legs are lead; she will not move.

               Jaw tenses; if she cannot run and must stand, then she will do so with whatever pride and courage she can conjure from within the pits of her stomach as it twists and knots itself. Freda swallow, wills her eyes to remain open; with them she stares into a seeking abyss, one that beckons and pulls, that fascinates so incredibly.

                    ‘ But I have found something, haven’t I? ’

                    ‘ There we are, Garulf. ’ 

               In response to her gift ( a modest half an apple ), her steed whinnies, nudges her now-empty hand with his nose. Freda grins, simply glad to spend such a quiet time after all that has passed. Hand rested now, upon trusted friend’s cheek, forehead gently rested against his muzzle, she speaks again ------ because it is what she needs. To keep her mind occupied and far away from the horrors it still is processing, and the uncertainty that threatens to swallow her. Threatens only, however, for she cannot allow herself to give in. For Éothain, for her mother.

               She is in the midst of telling Garulf just how handsome he is, even compared to all the King’s horses that surround them, when footsteps ( quiet for a time, but unmistakable ) tear her from her childish and dreamy state. Freda stands upright, skirts disturbing the hay upon the floor as she turns, and almost immediately drops her gaze. Colour flares her cheeks, pink for her embarrassment.

                    ‘ I was far away, my lord. ’ A pause, only a snort from the horse beside, followed by an unsettled chuckle from her, ‘ Forgive me. . . I did not know you were there. ’

                    ‘ There was blood --- so much of it that I thought I would taste it each time I breathed the air ----, and fire, and screaming. They swarmed like ants on the hill, destroying everything they came across. Black creations of the enemy we so foolishly thought we were safe from. ’

               Recalling such a time is a struggle, and Freda’s heart seems now to slow in her chest ( threaten to stop entirely ) with each second that passes, as the horror that is only a memory contorts itself, plays as though it is still reality. Yet, she has had much practice in masking her horror, the agony that swells upon recognising the great loss.

                    ‘ And just like that, so quickly, my home was gone. ’ A pause, eyes lift, ‘ Do you believe one can recover from that? ’

                    ‘ War has come and gone, mother, and I am happy here. ’

               To prove her point, she smiles, masks any exasperation or concern with brightness that takes a few seconds to fade. She recalls war, and the constant danger that seemed to chase them all, but here in the White City, with the threat to the east destroyed, Freda feels safe, and at home. For the first time in many long months.

                    ‘ I love you, and I am glad you are visiting me here but. . ., This change will be good for me. Please understand that. ’

                    ‘ You know these lands better than I, no? ’

               The lady before her now seems to be one born of the earth, the very way she moves atop the soil speaks highly of her skill. Freda eyes her now, uncertain and quiet for a time. She has so little offer, and she is aware; such is why her following query remains somewhat hushed.

                     ‘ Would you be my guide, for a time? I only seek shelter. ’

               SHADOWS DO CLING, and nip at her heels. The chill’s tendrils against her cheeks colour them pink as a shiver crawls up her spine. Her own curiosity is at fault here, and indeed she knows it. Lost within a maze beneath the earth, for the sake of myths and rumours. Eothain has told her tales, of mystical beasts beneath the earth and stone; childishly, she has decided to blame him ------ should she ever find home again, she will have to tell him off. These caves have, since her coming across them, only brought her distress. Aye, she denies any hint of enjoyment at this venture, of sated interest and desired adventure.

               A sound, one that causes her to move so swiftly that her candle almost diminishes. A breath caught in her throat, as cold as the damp air about her and fingers clench around the freezing metal of her light’s holder. Perhaps the childrens’ tales are true, perhaps one is not alone down here.

                    ‘ Are you as lost as I? ’ Little, she hears, deep within the hillside’s caverns, ‘ I think neither of us should be down here. ’