Sad Wings of Destiny

Chapter Fourteen: The Art of Survival



Miriel trudged along the path in the woods, each step becoming more difficult than the last. Desperate for rest, she veered off the trail in what she believed was a westerly direction, and into the thickening underbrush. She had only gone a few yards when she found herself unable to carry on. She dropped her things beside a mammoth beech, thinking that that tree would shield her from any that happened along the roadway.

Rain continued to trickle down, the drops hitting the leaves and sounding like a morose symphony. Feeling worn-out and cold, Miriel plopped down onto the bed of dead, wet leaves, searching her bags for her winter cloak. She wrapped the fir-lined garment tightly around her body before lying down. Resting her head on her softest bag, she closed her eyes, and only moments later, drifted off to sleep�



For the first time since her ordeal had begun, she encountered Buffy in the flesh (so to speak).

The elder Slayer felt relieved to finally see her prot�g� face-to-face in the dreamscape. Wanting to comfort the girl after her hellish experience, Buffy rushed over to her with her arms wide open, eager to pull her into an embrace.

Miriel recoiled from her mentor, unwilling to be touched by any, including Buffy. She turned away and walked a few paces deeper into the woods before sitting against the bole of a birch tree. Though the rain had stopped and the ground was dry, dark grey clouds still lingered overhead, reflecting the young girl�s mood.

Hurt by Miriel�s rejection, Buffy warily followed the young Slayer, taking a seat opposite her. Leaning against the trunk of a beech tree, she watched the girl intently. Buffy�s heart went out to Miriel. She looked just as awful as she had the night before. Mud and blood caked her clothing, and a thin layer of dirt coated Miriel�s face, neck and arms hiding her normally porcelain-white skin. She could plainly see the bruises on the girl�s neck. So vivid and dark were the markings that she could make out the shape of the evil man�s long fingers.

Miriel continued to sit in silence, staring off into space. Buffy desperately wanted to help her, to advise her, but what in the world could she possibly say to make things better? Was it even possible?

�Are you alright?� she finally uttered. The moment the words left her lips, she regretted saying them. Of course, she�s not alright, dumb ass! she thought to herself.

Slowly, Miriel turned her head so that she faced her mentor. Her eyes narrowed. �What do you think?� she snapped bitterly. The girl then turned away, losing herself in her thoughts.

Buffy wasn�t sure how to reply or if she should at all. She needs time, she thought to herself. She then decided to remain quiet, to be there when Miriel was ready to talk.

After several hours had passed, Miriel finally spoke.

�Why did you not tell me,� she began, her voice weak and faint, �Why did you not tell me how evil men are?� She continued to stare in the same direction as she had been looking, reluctant to make eye contact with Buffy.

�I assumed you knew,� replied the elder Slayer.

Miriel snickered upon hearing Buffy�s answer. �No, Buffy. I did not know that men could be so� monstrous.�

The elder Slayer�s eyebrows shot up when she heard that. While there was no way she was about to start an argument with her traumatized prot�g�, she couldn�t help but think that both Denethor�s and Bregolas� actions fell under the �monstrous� category. Though neither had taken the girl by force, they had used their stations, their positions of power, to manipulate her into succumbing to their selfish desires.

�It is not the same,� said Miriel, speaking in a somewhat distant sounding voice.

�What?� Buffy queried, her heart beginning to race in her chest. Had Miriel heard her thoughts? Had she spoken them aloud?

The girl fixed her gaze on her mentor. �I know your thoughts,� she answered.

�H-how? How can you know what I�m thinking?� asked Buffy, taken aback by the young Slayer�s response.

�Perhaps I am using more than ten percent of my brain,� she snidely replied. Miriel shifted her eyes away from Buffy before continuing. �What my father did to me was sick, sick and immoral. Not a day goes by that I do no think of what he has taken from me.� She paused for a moment, carefully considering her words. �But, he was not a savage. He did not drug me and tie me up, doing to me what those animals did. I was coerced by words, not brute force.� She looked back at Buffy, her eyes cold and detached. �There is a difference though you may think otherwise.�

�I� I� � the elder Slayer stammered, surprised to find herself at a loss for words.

�Bregolas loved me,� she added, her tone riddled with sorrow. �He loved me but I was too foolish to see that, to accept it.� Miriel turned away from Buffy and slowly shook her head. �I thought there was someone else for me in this world. I see now that that was a delusion, a delusion I conjured in my mind.� She paused, taking a deep breath, then slowly exhaling.

�Miriel, you�re still young,� countered Buffy. �You�ve got your whole life ahead of you.�

The young Slayer shifted her eyes back to her mentor. �My life will never be the same. A part of me died back there,� she said, pointing in the direction of the house. �Life will never be the same. I will never be the same.�

Buffy didn�t doubt Miriel�s words. Such a traumatic event would greatly affect anyone. Buffy thought back to her first encounter with Miriel, well after her abuse at the hands of Denethor had begun. At that time, and even thereafter, the girl continued to have an aura of innocence about her, which was quite remarkable considering what she had been going through, and the secret she was harboring. Now, as Buffy studied her, it was gone. That innocence was gone. She had changed. In the course of a few hours, she had changed. Buffy could see it, especially in her eyes. That spark of life and love that shone in Miriel�s beautiful grey eyes had diminished. The girl within her had died.

What frightened Buffy was what was to come, what Miriel would become after such an ordeal. She didn�t want the young Slayer to lose faith in mankind. She wanted her to know that there was still good in the world, in its people. Not everyone was evil. Not everyone took pleasure in inflicting harm on others. Could she convince her of that? Could she help Miriel avoid having a grim outlook on life?

�There�s still good out there, Miriel,� Buffy finally said. �I know you�ve been through a horrible experience - �

� - You do not know what I�ve been through,� interjected the young Slayer angrily. �Unless you�ve gone through it yourself, you cannot possibly understand what I went though.�

�I was there. I saw what happened,� argued Buffy defensively.

Miriel let out a derisive snort. �No, Buffy. That is not the same as experiencing it. O� yes, you witnessed it, but you didn�t feel it. Your insides were not torn from those bastards. Mine were!�

She thrust her arms outward, showing her mentor the rope burns on her wrists. Miriel had struggled so hard in her restraints that not only was the skin burned, but the ropes had also dug into her flesh, leaving them raw. The scars would remain for the rest of her life.

�Where are yours, Slayer?� she queried bitterly. �Where are your reminders of this night? Where are the markings on your body?�

Buffy�s eyes welled with tears. She knew that Miriel was striking out at her. She felt her pain. She felt her anguish. Choking back her tears, she answered, �You may not see them, but I have them, in here.� She pressed her palm to her chest, over her heart. �My scars are in here.�

Miriel cackled madly in response. She then lifted her top, grimacing from the sudden jolt of pain in her chest as she did so. Apparently, her tunic had stuck to her wound after the blood dried, and when she pulled up her shirt, she yanked the scab off, causing the engraving on her chest to bleed once again.

The elder Slayer�s eyes widened when she saw the mark carved into the girl�s skin on her chest - the Eye of Sauron. It was much bigger than Buffy had thought.

�As you can see, my marks are visible to the naked eye,� retorted Miriel through clenched teeth. She then pulled her shirt back down. �Don�t talk to me about scars!� she added venomously.

A tear escaped from the corner of Buffy�s eye. It grieved her to see that Miriel would remain disfigured by this night, that the markings on her body would be a constant reminder of her torments. How she wished she could�ve done something to prevent the whole thing from happening.

Miriel then leaned back against the tree. She closed her eyes, simmering in silence. It would be a long while before she spoke to Buffy again�



At daybreak, the sound of birds chirping merrily in the trees woke the young Slayer. She was sick, suffering from a raging fever. With no medicines at her disposal, the fever would have to run its course. No longer ravenous with hunger, she sipped some water before inspecting her injuries. She applied the salve she had onto her chest and wrists before pulling off her boots to do the same to her ankles.

In addition to the rope burns around her ankles, Miriel now discovered fresh blisters on the back of each heel. She assumed the wet leather rubbing against her skin in the rain the night before had caused them. She popped the blisters, smeared on some salve, and then carefully bandaged both ankles and heels. She�d keep her boots and stockings off until she resumed her trek after she got better.

If that were not bad enough, that first pee she took in nearly twenty hours added to her misery. It burned worse than the fires of Orodruin!

Buffy feared that Miriel might have caught some venereal disease and hoped and prayed that that was not the case. For the love of God, hadn�t the girl already suffered enough!

For the next two days, the young Slayer suffered with her illness, flittering between the two states of consciousness. Buffy tried to encourage Miriel to eat, and, at times, she did force herself to nibble on a raw carrot, and sparingly sip some water.

By the third day, Miriel�s fever had broken. Though parts of her body remained sore, she decided that she was well enough to travel again.

During those times of rest in the dreamscape, Miriel had thought about what she would do next. She had considered Beorn�s suggestion, to go back to the Vales and dwell with his people, but that notion didn�t appeal to her at all. She was determined to go on as she had originally planned, finding herself inexplicably drawn to that village called Archet. Whether her Watcher would be found there or not, she no longer cared. She was beginning to think that the Council of Watchers had already died out, and that she was chasing a myth. If she were to survive in this world, she would have to rely completely on herself, no one else.

Since learning what she had from Beorn, she had decided that she would take his advice by crossing the River Mitheithel at the Last Bridge. However, knowing that the enemy was tracking her and that the old hag was out there somewhere, she would take a different path than the one that had brought her to the house of horrors. Instead, she would travel due west to the River Hoarwell, and follow its course southward until she reached the bridge. She shared her thoughts with Buffy, who wasn�t too keen on her idea.

�What if that�s what they want you to do?� asked her mentor with concern. �What if the enemy plans to trap you on the cliffs of the riverbank?�

�Then I�ll jump,� answered Miriel.

�Jump?� repeated an incredulous Buffy. �Beorn said that the cliffs were high and dangerous.�

�Perilous. He said the river was perilous to cross except at the bridge,� corrected the girl.

�You could die if you make such a jump,� warned the elder Slayer.

Miriel could only snicker in reply. �I care not,� she answered.

�You don�t mean that.�

The girl shrugged. �I will do what I need to when the time arrives. It is pointless talking about such things. Whatever happens - I�ll be ready.�



Before setting off, Miriel took Bregolas� ring and placed it on a silver necklace. She clasped the chain around her neck as a reminder to trust no one. At times, when she adjusted her burdens as she walked, the ring would bounce, hitting the sore carving above her bosom. She sucked it up, letting the pain act as a reminder of her folly.

She followed a game trail that meandered to the west, listening intently for any unusual sounds that would indicate that she was being followed. All she heard were the typical forest noises - birds flapping their wings, their joyful tunes, and the occasional squirrel foraging for food in the dry bed of leaves. The early morning fog continued to linger over the landscape, but was not as dense as it had been on some days.

Miriel had gone maybe a couple of miles when she felt the hair on the nape of her neck suddenly stand on end. A tingly sensation ran through her body, portending danger. Immediately, she stopped dead in her tracks. One of her hands automatically went to the hilt of her sword, as she slowly scanned her surroundings. Something caught her eye, only a couple of feet away. She did a double take, noticing a strand of rope peeping out from behind a leafy vine.

With her heart racing, she slid her packs off her shoulders, carefully placing them on the ground on either side of her. Her eyes followed the rope to the ground where it disappeared under the bed of leaves. She then looked upward, following the partially concealed rope over a large branch of the tree, seemingly disappearing from there.

Realizing rather quickly that she had come upon some type of a trap, she took a few steps backward, looking for the other end of the rope that went behind the mammoth birch. Wrapped in vines of ivy, the taut rope stretched behind the tree, disappearing in the thickets. Eager to inspect this contraption, she quickly surveyed her surroundings, listening for anyone that might be concealed within the woods. She then slowly and carefully made her way toward the thickets, inspecting the ground for any more traps. Amidst the brush, she saw that the rope was attached to a notch of a sapling that arched backward, nearly to the ground. Excited at the prospect of foiling her pursuers, Miriel searched for a long stick, anxious to see how exactly the mechanisms of the trap worked.

Once she had found a suitable stick, she went back to where her bags had lain. She then began to tap the leafy floor, trying to find the end of the rope that lay hidden. She jumped with a start when she sprung the trap, the coil of rope seizing the stick, yanking it from her hand. She could hear a rustling in the thickets as the rope went flying upward, stopping beneath the branch of the tree. There, the stick swung in the air, trapped.

Miriel laughed heartily, something she thought she�d never do again. She ran back to the thickets, wanting to closely inspect the sapling to see how this thing had worked. Maybe it was foolish on her part, but the young Slayer found herself eager to duplicate the trap. If she could master something like this, she felt it would be most helpful in the future.

Though tedious and very frustrating, it took nearly two hours to correctly reset the trap again so that it worked. No words could describe that feeling of accomplishment Miriel felt when the stick was finally wrenched from her hand. She had successfully learned something new, all by herself, which made her confidence soar. She reset the trap a few more times after that, wanting to make sure she had it down pat.

When she had determined that she could do this on her own, from start to finish, Miriel undid the rope, coiled it up and took it with her. For the rest of the day, she would use a stick to tap the ground before each step, wanting to make sure she didn�t stumble onto another trap.

Unfortunately, that moment of triumph was fleeting, and Miriel�s thoughts became gloomy once again. As she marched, the scenes that led up to her capture played over and over in her mind. While there were many things that she had done wrong, she believed that consuming all her food and water had been her downfall. It had been a stupid thing to do and she vowed not to repeat it again.

In fact, she became so frugal with her food that she allotted herself only very small portions for each day. And, whenever she came upon wild berries along her path, she ate every ripe one that she found in hopes of sating her hunger, and preserving what vegetables she had with her.

One gains wisdom through mishaps in life, she recalled her father once saying. Miriel thought no truer words had ever been spoken. She had to learn from her mistakes, no matter how grievous they were. She convinced herself not to dwell on the past, no matter how horrid it had been. Life went on. Her life would go on. If she were to survive, she�d have to adapt to the constant changes that one faced in the world. Her motivation was now self-preservation. Only the strong survived.

She remained vigilant, constantly aware of her surroundings. Those times when she came upon wide clearings, she waited at the edge of the woods, watching and listening for anything out of the ordinary. She dare not step into any glades until her crossbow was in hand, loaded and ready to fire. Though she did not have the energy to sprint across those open stretches, she did, however, walk briskly or jog.

Thankfully, nothing eventful had happened by the end of the day. Weary and aching from her trek, Miriel had decided to take refuge high in the treetops instead of the bush. She used the rope she had taken from the barn to hoist her belongings into the upper branches. She then wedged her things into a fork in a limb, securing them in place with the same rope that she had used to lift them from the ground. Since there were no saplings in the immediate area, she couldn�t set up her rope trap as she had hoped. As an alternative, she cut brambles and briars from nearby, weaving them around the base of the tree, forming a thorny fence. She arranged them so that the brambles looked as if they had always been there. Though her makeshift fence might not keep predators away, she thought the prickly thorns might dissuade anyone or anything from coming closer.

As an added precaution, Miriel tied the other rope around her waist, securing it tightly to the limb that would act as her bed. She feared falling out of the tree in her sleep, which, from that height, would most likely cause severe injuries.

Trying to find a comfortable position on the tree limbs proved to be impossible. As Miriel lay there, waiting for sleep, she thought of possible ways of improving her bed for next time. Eventually, she nodded off�



�I�m impressed,� said a beaming Buffy the moment she saw her prot�g� in the dreamscape. �You�re really using that head of yours now. Figuring out how that snare worked was a smart move on your part. And sleeping in trees - kinda strange, but clever.� She nodded her head approvingly.

�I want to practice,� declared the girl in a no-nonsense sort of way.

The elder Slayer was taken aback by Miriel�s request. �I don�t think you�re ready yet,� she countered, her eyes lingering on the bruises on the girl�s neck. �You�re still hurt, and� � She fell quiet, as the bruises on her prot�g�s skin began to fade before her very eyes. �Oh-kay,� she drawled.

Miriel stepped closer to her mentor. �I want to practice,� she repeated, firm in tone.

Buffy hesitated. She felt that Miriel needed more time to get over her ordeal before they resumed training. �I know you�re eager to train, and we will, but I just don�t think now�s - � Buffy was stopped mid-sentence by the right hook the girl delivered to her chin. �Hey!� she replied, miffed and rubbing her jaw. �I said you�re not - �

Wham! Miriel struck her lip that time, breaking the skin.

The elder Slayer tasted blood. Needless to say, she was pissed off.

She threw her own punch, but Miriel caught her by the wrist before her fist could make contact. The young Slayer used her height to her advantage, forcing Buffy�s body to arch backward until she had no other choice but to try to break the girl�s hold by doing a back flip.

Miriel clung to her, slamming her mentor�s back to the ground, hard. She then leapt on top of her, thrusting her forearm into Buffy�s throat, cutting off her air supply.

�Alright, Miriel. You got me,� said Buffy in a barely audible voice, tapping Miriel�s forearm so that she�d stop.

The young Slayer was non-responsive. Her arm pushed deeper into her mentor�s throat, angering Buffy.

The elder Slayer swung her right leg forward in front of Miriel�s chest and pushed the young Slayer off. She then rolled on top of Miriel, pinning the squirming girl�s arms down over her head.

�I told you, you weren�t ready,� insisted Buffy, highly annoyed by the girl�s defiance.

That riled Miriel. Breathing heavily, she stared into her mentor�s eyes. Her head then lunged forward, striking Buffy on the bridge of her nose with a loud crack. Blood spewed from the elder Slayer�s nostrils in streams, causing Miriel to flashback to that episode with D�ilin. She snapped. In her mind, she was reliving that very moment when D�ilin was raping her. Her eyes suddenly glazed over, as Buffy�s face morphed into that of the villain�s. Except this time, her arms and legs weren�t bound, and she was able to fight back against her attacker in a blind rage.

Buffy�s hands immediately went to her nose, trying to staunch the flow, as Miriel went on the offensive. The young Slayer flipped her mentor onto her back, climbed on top of her, wrapping her legs securely around Buffy�s legs so that she could not use them as she had before.

Like a feral animal, gnashing her teeth, Miriel seized hold of Buffy�s arms, pulling them down over her mentor�s torso. She then thrust her upper body down over the elder Slayer�s arms, locking them in place. She then started to pummel Buffy�s face, cursing her as though she were actually D�ilin.

The elder Slayer tried to buck the younger off her with no success. Turning her head from side to side, and trying to pry her arms free, she kept telling Miriel that she was Buffy not D�ilin.

The girl remained unconvinced.

Blood poured down the back of Buffy�s throat. She coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath. She had never been in such a predicament before, facing the wrath of a fellow Slayer whose mind appeared to have snapped in an instant. She tried digging her nails into Miriel�s wrists, knowing that the ropes had rubbed them raw. However, they were in a dream in which the young Slayer had healed her wounds, and her unbridled fury numbed her to any pain Buffy could inflict with her fingernails.

In agony, the elder Slayer continued to choke on the blood that streamed down her throat. She could feel her eyes beginning to swell shut. She felt her front teeth break from her gums, freaking her out. She had never taken a beating like this - ever! But, what happened next, Buffy could not readily explain.

Some invisible force sent Miriel flying backward through the air. She landed several feet away. Buffy pulled herself up into a sitting position, spitting out her teeth with a mouthful of blood. The elder Slayer wasn�t sure what exactly had happened, whether she had somehow managed to throw Miriel off by some innate ability that she was unaware of, or if some higher power had decided to intervene on her behalf. Dazed and in pain, she struggled to catch her breath.

Whatever had possessed Miriel was gone. Panting, she sat up and looked upon a badly beaten Buffy. Shocked and frightened by her actions, she believed at that moment, that she had truly gone mad. She could find no other explanation. Terrified at what she had become, at what she had done, she fled, running as fast as she could.

Buffy called out to her, as Miriel weaved between the trees, quickly disappearing from view.

Soon, the hard ground beneath the young Slayer�s feet turned into soft sand. The abrupt change in scenery and terrain caused her to lose her footing; she fell, landing on her hands and knees at the edge of the sea. She had run back to Dol Amroth, the only place in the whole world that she felt safe.

Day had turned into night. The full moon shone brightly over the darkened waters. Her breathing drowned out the sound of the surf.

Miriel�s hands had sunk beneath the sand, as blood, Buffy�s blood, dripped off her chin. She could still taste the saltiness of her mentor�s life force on her lips.

What have I done? she thought in dismay. I�m a monster, a monster no different from my perpetrators. I have unleashed the beast within me, hurting one who has been nothing but a friend to me.

The girl felt sick to her stomach. She collapsed onto her bottom, wiping the blood from her face with her forearm. She then began to rock back and forth in anguish, thinking of T�rin Turambar and the despair he must have felt before taking his own life. For at that moment, Miriel considered suicide as a way to escape what she was becoming, or had become, as it were.

Then, from out of nowhere, a completely healed Buffy appeared. She took a seat beside her distressed prot�g�.

Miriel dare not look at her. She continued to stare out at the sea, mortified by her attack on the elder Slayer.

�I�m okay, Miriel,� Buffy said in her most reassuring voice, no longer angry with her Charge. �Thank God this is all a dream. I�m fully healed. No harm, no foul.� The elder Slayer tried her best to lighten the situation. �How �bout you? You alright?�

The young Slayer shook her head, unable to find the words to express her regret.

�I�m fine, Miriel,� Buffy repeated. �Look at me,� she continued, taking Miriel by the chin and forcing her to face her. �I�m okay. See!� She offered her a wide smile, revealing that all her teeth were intact. �I�m as pretty as I always was,� she added with a chortle.

The young Slayer looked away, facing the sea once again. After a long pause, she whispered, �I saw his face. Not yours, but his.�

�Yeah, I kinda thought so,� answered Buffy. �That�s why I thought it best not to practice just yet. You�ve been through a lot, Miriel. You need time, time to get over this.�

�I will never get over this,� replied the girl in a distant voice.

�You�re probably right,� responded the elder Slayer. �But, I think, in time, the pain will become less. They say time heals all wounds, and I happen to agree with that.� She shifted her eyes to Miriel, whose expression remained somber. �Let�s just hold off on training for a while.� Hoping to cheer Miriel up, she added, �You�ve got one helluva right hook, by the way. Did you know that?�

The girl shrugged, too consumed with her own thoughts to reply. Feeling highly uncomfortable to be in Buffy�s presence, she awoke a few minutes later�



Miriel remained seated in the tree until daylight, when she set off on her journey once again.

Her mood remained grim. She felt horrible about what she had done to Buffy. It was uncalled for, despicable. She told herself repeatedly that Buffy was older and wiser than she was, and that it was imperative that she heed the advice of one whose experience was far greater than her own. However, over the next few days when she visited the dreamscape, Miriel would feel awkward and remained somewhat standoffish around her mentor.

Throughout the day, she steadily marched on, constantly aware of her surroundings. The day proved hot and humid; the air stagnant. With water being her most valuable resource, she continued to allow herself only sips despite the fact that she still had an ample supply. She refused to allow herself to overindulge, and took frequent breaks when she felt overheated.

It took Miriel a day and a half to reach the high bluffs overlooking the river. Beorn was right; the stone walls on either side of the waterway were steep, and from where she stood, there was no way to reach the river other than leaping off the wall. Unable to judge the depths of the River Mitheithel by sight, she wasn�t about to go against the advice of the Bear-man by plunging into the beautiful stream. She would do as he counseled, following the river�s course to the bridge.

A cool breeze flowed with the stream, providing Miriel with some much needed relief from the afternoon sun. As she walked in a south-southwesterly direction, she noticed that the heights of bluffs rose and fell with the hills. When the day began to wane, she once again took refuge in the treetops.

Miriel set out at first light the next morning. After cresting a rather large hill, she caught her first glimpse of the Last Bridge in the distance. What a sight it was to behold! She refused to allow herself to dwell on the fact that she had done a huge loop, having traveled many leagues out of the way before reaching this point. The bridge was a pivotal place on her journey. Once she crossed the river, she would enter the region of Eriador. After all the hardships she had endured, reaching that part of Middle-earth would be a most glorious accomplishment.

No words could describe her excitement as she drew nearer to the bridge. The Slayer could see that the cliffs on either side of the stream were at their shortest height thus far, promising easier access to its waters. Not only would she finally be able to wash the filth from her body, but she would also be able to wash all her clothing, and top off her water skins. She even toyed with the idea of camping there for a few days so that she could try her hand at fishing again.

As she allowed herself a swig of water, her free hand grasped Bregolas� ring that hung between her breasts. She wished the warrior was with her, and wondered if he would be proud that she had come so far on her own. Her eyes then shifted toward the Misty Mountains and the road that zigzagged its way down from the mighty peaks. How long ago had it been since she and Bregolas had reached its apex? Miriel could no longer recall. Time had blurred, and had become meaningless.

After a brief rest, Miriel resumed her trek, picking up the pace so that she could reach the bridge as swiftly as possible.

By midday, she was at the edge of the forest that bordered the road near the Last Bridge. She hid her things behind the bole of a rowan tree, but kept her crossbow in hand in case it was needed. Concealed within the brush, she watched the roadway on either side of the bridge, listening and waiting for anyone that might be approaching. For nearly thirty minutes, she stood motionless before daring to step out of the cover of the trees and thickets.

Cautiously, she approached the stone bridge, scrutinizing the dirt on the roadway for any fresh tracks. Every now and again, she�d peek over her shoulder, wanting to make sure that no one was attempting to creep up on her, catching her at unawares.

While she was no expert tracker, it appeared to her that none had journeyed on the road since the heavy rains of several days ago. If anyone had, their footprints had been washed away. Only old wagon wheel ruts remained, seemingly so old that they had become part of the stone crossing itself.

Miriel walked about halfway out on the bridge, looking upstream and down. All was quiet except for the birds living in the nearby trees. Even the water moved silently. The young Slayer scrutinized the walls on either side of the Mitheithel, trying to determine which embankment would allow the easier descent to the water. From the looks of them, neither side would be easy.

Compelled to stick to the eastern side of the river, Miriel headed back to the woods nearest the bridge. She thought about using her rope to aid in her descent, as there were far too few places for one to maintain a foothold on the face of the cliff. She didn�t think that one length of rope would be long enough and wondered if she could tie the two ropes into one, though one was thinner than the other. If possible, she could then tie one end to a tree nearest the wall, and rappel down the face of the cliff.

With plenty of daylight left, she hurried back to her bags and quickly retrieved both strands of rope. She then busily went to work, tying both links together. She pulled and pulled, tightening her knots, hoping that they�d hold her weight. She then raced over to a suitable tree, one that wasn�t too thick, but not too thin, either. Once the rope was secured around the trunk, she tossed the much longer end over the edge of the cliff, hoping that it would reach the water. She heard the faint splash when the rope hit the river, the current taking it a little ways downstream until the strand grew taut, unable to go any further.

Excited at the prospect of bathing, Miriel heaved the rope back up to the top of the cliff. Now, she had to face another dilemma. How exactly was she to bathe, not knowing how deep the water was? Should she tie the other end of the rope around her body to be on the safe side? And, if so, how was she to undress? Surely, she shouldn�t descend the wall naked! What if someone were to come by? Puzzled, she stared at the river, pondering how she should proceed.

An idea then came to her mind. She dashed back into the woods where her belonging were, grabbing the foulest smelling bag that contained her soiled garments. She thought she could loop the rope around the strap of the bag before tying it to her body. She could then make her decent, with her things in tow, and perhaps, pull off her garments once she was in the water. If that didn�t work, maybe she could still wash her clothes while wearing them. Since she could not think of a better plan, and decided to go with it. If all else failed, at least she�d be able to top off her water skins.

Miriel gathered what things she would need and crammed them all into her one bag. She then hesitantly removed both swords from her waist. She wasn�t too keen on the idea of being weaponless, and decided to secure her dagger to the strap of the bag. She then pulled off her boots, stockings, and the bandages around her heels. She double checked her things, making sure she had all the necessary items stowed in her bag before making her descent.

Now ready, she carefully made her way back to the cliff, avoiding the briars and broken limbs that littered the ground. Once she had reached the rope, she attached her bag, then tied the rope securely around her waist.

Once again, she stopped and listened, scanning the roadway for any possible travelers. All looked deserted. She then carefully inched to the side of the cliff, praying that she wouldn�t screw this up. She pulled the excess rope over the ledge, not wanting to become tangled in it. She then took a deep breath, turned around, tightened her grip on the rope, and stepped over the edge.

That first step was frightening, terribly frightening! Her hands slipped along the rope causing her body to flip upside down. Yelping, she frantically regained her hold on the rope. With her heart beating madly in her chest, she swung her legs out toward the wall, trying to grip the rocky surface with her toes. Her bag spun in the air, striking her in the face. Her feet racked down the wall before she was able to clamp them firmly in place, pulling her body up so that she was no longer upside down.

Once stabilized, she took a minute to catch her breath. She was relieved that her head hadn�t hit the wall, knocking her out cold. Using primarily her feet, she began to work her way down the wall, finding it more difficult than she had first thought. When she neared the water�s surface, she let go of the rope, plunging into the river.

She let out another soft cry when the rope tightened around her torso, once all the slack was gone. Miriel�s body was submerged a little over waist deep in the cold waters of the Mitheithel. The rope prevented her from going any deeper. In discomfort, her toes grazed a slick rock beneath the water. Pushing her bobbing bag out of the way, she tried to grip the stone with her feet. As soon as her toes were locked in place, she took another moment to get her bearings. She then loosened the rope around her stomach, as her eyes scanned the top of the cliffs and bridge for any intruders.

She then turned her attention back to her errand. Before doing anything else, she topped off her two water skins, as water was a necessity. She then decided to do her laundry before attempting to bathe.

One by one she pulled out each item, scrubbing it with her dwindling bar of soap before rinsing it. Not wanting to put the clean garments in the bag with the soiled, she slung each item around her neck until she had washed all the contents of her bag. She did her best to wring out the excess water from her clothes before stuffing them back into the bag.

The sweet floral scent invigorated Miriel. When it was finally time to bathe, she floated on her back, allowing her hair to get thoroughly wet. She washed her hair, face and neck first, prior to contending with her body and the clothing that covered it. Miriel then slipped out of her top, washed it, slipped it into the pocket of her bag and then began to gently clean the skin of her upper body.

This was the first instance where she was able to get a real good look at the engraving over her left breast. It sickened her to see the Eye of Sauron staring back at her. The skin was still pinkish and inflamed. There was no doubt in her mind that the scar was permanent, that she would carry that hideous mark on her for the rest of her life. O� how she�d make the old hag pay if they ever crossed paths again!

The Slayer quickly slid her wet top back on, carefully tucking the fabric under the rope. She then eased out of her breeches, cleaning them before shoving them in the pocket of her bag. She washed her undergarment before sliding that too into the pocket. Washing her lower extremities proved the hardest. She had no other choice but to wash while under water, particularly her private area. Her legs she could lift, one at a time, but she constantly lost her balance, the current pushing her from the stone, and the rope tightening around her waist.

As soon as she had finished, she slipped the sliver of soap back into her bag before dressing. It was difficult trying to squirm into her soaking breeches, but she managed. Now clean, she turned, facing the wall. Though the cliff was shortest at this point, from her perspective it looked massive. It would be much more difficult to climb the wall than it had been to descend it. She was much heavier with her garments soaking wet.

While her hands were not badly burned by the rope on the way down, Miriel knew that the friction would be much worse on the ascent. To remedy this, she pulled out a newly clean pair of breeches from her bag. She slid each arm into a leg, wanting the material to act as modified gloves. It worked! Though the climb was difficult and Miriel constantly prayed that the knots would not come undone, she did make it back to the top of the cliff in one piece. She undid the knots in the rope and coiled it around her arm.

Tired and hungry, Miriel wanted to change into dry clothes before her wet garments could chafed her skin. As soon as she returned to the place where the rest of her things lay hidden, she hurriedly changed. Her ensemble wasn�t complete until her swords were girded on each hip. She then wrung out her wet clothing, draping them over various tree branches in the immediate area.

As she brushed the knots out of her hair, her thoughts turned to food. The Slayer felt that she had earned a well-deserved feast for her ingenuity. Instead of eating raw vegetables (which were not very tasty), she thought that she�d prepare a vegetable stew. With a consistent water supply at hand, she could afford to use some to make a hearty meal. She only wished she could have some type of meat. Fishing was out of the question as her line would not reach the water from the top of the cliff and there was no way she was about to climb down the wall again, today.

Now, she knew that if she wished to spark a fire, she couldn�t do it so close to the road. She�d have to move deeper into the woods. Miriel grumbled under her breath, knowing she�d have to collect all the clothing she had just laid out. She wasn�t about to wander off, leaving anything behind.

After resting for a few minutes, she re-packed her wet clothes, gathered all her things, and headed deeper into the forest, traveling northeast of the road. She hoped to come upon a secluded clearing. With the sun now lingering over the western side of the Misty Mountains, she needed its rays to hasten the drying process as it would take forever for her things to dry in the shade of the woods.

Lost in her thoughts, Miriel had walked further than she had originally intended. She had no idea how far she had traveled when she came upon an ideal spot. The wide clearing was surrounded by hills and rock formations. Large stone shelves jutted out from the hillside, offering the perfect place to lay out her clothes. Towering pines and a smattering of beeches stood prominently along the top of the knolls, providing a good buffer.

Unloading her burdens, the Slayer then went about setting her wet garments out on the hot, flat rocks. As soon as she had finished, Miriel turned around to begin working on her supper when she happened to glimpse a coney in a little patch of grass at the edge of the clearing. At first, she thought she was seeing things. She actually blinked several times, thinking that the illusion would disappear. It did not.

Her eyes darted to her crossbow that lay by her bags. The weapon was already loaded and ready to fire. Could she reach her weapon without frightening off the coney? She remained still. The animal froze for a second, noticing her out of the corner of its eye. After a few seconds, it hopped forward a little, and began nibbling on the grass.

The coney was about twenty-five feet away from her, and she was about ten feet from her weapon. Slowly, she stepped closer to her bags. As she crouched down, her joints popped. She held her breath, glancing at the animal, which seemed unfazed by what she considered a loud noise. Moving very slowly, she eased onto the ground so that she lay on her belly behind her belongings. She grabbed the crossbow, easing it over the top of one of her bags. The coney continued to eat away at the grass, unafraid of her presence.

The Slayer trained her weapon on the animal�s head, using her bag to steady her slightly shaking arm. She then pulled the trigger, sending the bolt flying with a whish, hitting the coney in the skull, just before its ear. It let out a sharp, quick squeal before plunking over on its side.

She had done it! She had made her first kill - for food, that is. Miriel leapt to her feet and raced over to the animal. She grabbed the bolt, along with the coney, excited at the prospect that she would finally eat meat after going so long without. The exhilaration she felt was indescribable. She felt that some survival instinct that had lain dormant within her had finally awakened. Though her kill was small, it made her feel� powerful. With each triumph, her confidence grew, for without both, one would not survive long in the wilds.

Excited, she dashed back to her belongings, gently laying her kill to the side. Pulling out her dagger, she grabbed an end of sheet of fabric that held her vegetables, cutting off a section of material. She then wrapped the coney in it until she was ready to skin, and dress it.

Her vegetable stew would now become a coney stew, the vegetables being an accompaniment to the meat. In her mind, she went over each step to making the perfect meal. A fire, she needed to make a fire first. The Slayer rushed back into the woods, looking for suitable, dry kindling. She found lots of small pieces of wood that felt dry, but the larger branches seemed damp despite the heat of the day.

Gathering what she could find, she returned back to the clearing, ready to attempt her fire. In an area dominated by so many pines, it was hard to find dried leaves. She did, however, grab handfuls of dried needles, not sure if that would be good enough to ignite into flames. What leaves she did find, felt damp on the bottom, like the large pieces of wood she had found.

Using what she had, she tried to spark a fire. Unfortunately, she couldn�t get the needles or leaves to ignite. Disheartened at this development, she feared the coney would rot before she got the chance to cook it.

Then, that voice, the one that she considered good said, Use the map!

Miriel�s brows shot up, as she fixed her eyes on the bag containing her map. She grabbed the sack, and began rummaging among the contents for the folded piece of parchment. She chuckled when she retrieved it. For some reason, she had felt the need to keep the map even though it had been ruined with Orc blood. Perhaps Miriel had had the foresight to see that it would come in handy one day, like today.

The map proved useful and quickly became engulfed in flames. The Slayer carefully stoked the fire. The kindling crackled to life, the flames growing taller and taller. She spent several minutes working on the fire, to ensure that it would stay alit, before turning her attention to step two: cleaning her vegetables.

For nearly a week, she had had to contend with grit in her mouth as she ate, mostly carrots. Since she was now close to water, she didn�t mind using some to clean the vegetables that she intended to cook. Digging through one of her bags, she pulled out her tent. The stakes to hold the canvas upright had been broken, so she�d have to improvise by using sticks. She had no intention of erecting the tent, but wanted to create a hollow, using the roof as place to hold water for cleaning.

The sticks she found were not sturdy enough, so she resorted to using rock pilings instead. This worked out better because she was able to place heavy stones on top of the canvas as well, keeping it in place. Once she had formed her depression, she poured in some water, about a half a water skin�s worth. She then washed the dirt from some carrots, rutabagas, and one half of a head of cabbage, before cutting them into bite-size pieces.

She dug out the pot and had almost placed it directly on the fire when she recalled Bregolas telling her to set the pot on flat stones to prevent the cookware from eroding. Since rocks were aplenty in the clearing, she found two, and placed them into the fire as she had done many weeks ago. She poured more water into the pot and then tossed in her vegetables.

Miriel now turned her attention to the coney. She pulled the animal closer to her, keeping it on the swathe of fabric. She rolled it over on its back, the arrow still protruding from its head. With her dagger in hand, she started her incision at the bottommost part of the coney, gradually moving upward. A minute amount of blood trickled into the animal�s fur, immediately bringing to mind images of Miriel�s horrific experience. As she delicately sliced through the coney�s skin, she envisioned the old hag doing the same to her. She could literally feel the dagger, the same dagger she was using on the animal, cutting through her flesh.

A pained expression came to her face, but she did not allow that to hinder her. Guts began to spill out of the opening, and once again, Miriel�s thoughts drifted back to that horrific night. She tried to push the images (and the stench) from her mind, knowing that she�d have to stick her hands inside the animal and pull out its innards.

The creature�s insides still felt warm. Having a firm grip on its organs, she pulled, breaking the membrane that kept all the guts attached inside the coney. Miriel cringed. With her hands covered in blood, she set the innards to the side. She then quickly wiped her hands clean on the cloth on which the animal lay. Picking up her dagger, she then cut off the coney�s head at the neck. She then peeled the skin, surprised at how easily it came off. When she reached the bottom of its feet, she hacked them off and pulled the remainder the skin all the way off.

She let out a started cry when a blackish colored worm popped out of what looked to be a bruise of flesh at the animal�s side. She stabbed at the worm with her dagger, trying to hack its slimy head off, but no matter how much of it she chopped, it continued to wiggle its way out. Miriel then stuck her blade into the flesh, cutting away at the spoiled portion of meat. She threw the tainted cut of flesh toward the edge of the woods.

The Slayer then picked up the skinless coney and took it to her makeshift wash basin. She cleaned the meat thoroughly, particularly around the place where she had found the parasitic worm. She then cut the legs off, deciding to roast them over the fire, while putting the rest of the carcass into the pot with her vegetables. She sharpened two of the sticks that she had tried to use for the canvas. Piercing the fleshiest part of the coney�s legs, she propped the sticks beside the pot so that the flames would lick at the meat. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

With so few arrows left, Miriel wanted to remove the projectile that was embedded in the skull of her kill. Afraid that pulling on the dart would somehow damage it, she cracked open the skull of the coney, thus retrieving a valuable implement. When she had finished with that, she disposed of the rest of the parts of the animal that she considered inedible.

Soon, the smell of roasting meat wafted in the air, making Miriel�s stomach rumble with hunger, and her mouth water in anticipation. She had placed her pan on top of the pot, hoping that would quicken the cooking process of the stew.

At last, the coney legs looked done, although they had shriveled up somewhat while cooking. She sank her teeth into the meat, which instantly burned her mouth. Forced to pull the leg from her mouth, she blew on it, hoping to cool it so she could try again.

Finally, she was able to take her first real bite, tearing the flesh from the bone. Though slightly charred on the outside, the taste was something that she would not soon forget. To Miriel, it was the most delicious bite she had ever tasted. The meat was juicy, though gamey in flavor. The experience brought tears of joy to her eyes.

She wolfed down the legs, kind of disappointed that there was more bone than meat. However, the stew was simmering, and with the addition of vegetables, her belly would soon feel full. With her hunger partially sated, she sat, staring at the pot, waiting impatiently for more food.

Not long afterwards, she gorged on her stew, eating nearly all of it at one sitting. Unfortunately, having gone so long without a proper meal, and gobbling up so much after eating so little, her stomach began to cramp and churn. Poor Miriel ended up suffering from one of the worst bouts of diarrhea that she had ever experienced.

When the Slayer�s stomach finally settled, she noticed that the woods were already becoming dark from the waning of the sun. She hoped to seek shelter in the trees that ran along the hillocks. As she surveyed the area, it seemed that the pines stood out more prominently than the beeches. While she preferred to find a tree that overlooked the clearing, she wasn�t about to sleep in a pine. Not only did she hate their pointy needles, but the bark of pines had a tendency to come off rather easily, which caused them to secrete a sticky sap that was worse than glue.

She climbed up the rocky protuberances that stuck out of the nearest hill, thinking she�d get a better view from above. Once she had reached the top, and taken a second look, it appeared that there were no beeches in the foremost ring of trees overlooking the clearing. Either Miriel would have to sleep a stone�s throw from the fire pit or in the actually clearing itself. She wasn�t too keen on camping in the open area. She felt that that would leave her exposed and vulnerable. Beorn�s words of warning still rang in her mind, and she didn�t want to allow herself to become easy prey for those in pursuit. No. She would find a beech tree outside of the ring of trees. There was no other option.

She wandered along the various hilltops, seeking the perfect tree. Her ideal tree would have saplings nearby so she could once again set her trap. A few yards in, she found it - the ideal beech. She hurried back to the clearing and gathered her things, anxious to get them secured in the tree before it grew too dark to set her trap.

After she had accomplished her tasks, she returned to the clearing. Her cooking gear and the pelt from the coney were the only things she had not packed away. She debated whether she should save the remnants of her stew for morning or if she should go ahead and finish it off. Her frying pan proved to be an adequate lid, keeping the flies out of her food. She pulled the pan away and took a look at how much was left. Once she had discarded the carcass, she could see that there really wasn�t that much stew remaining.

She pulled out one of the water skins she had with her, added a bit of liquid to the pot and returned it to the rock on the smoldering embers. Miriel raked her spoon along the bottom of the pot, trying to loosen the cooked on bits of meat and vegetables that coated the bottom of her cookware.

By the time she had begun to eat, the first stars had popped out in the darkening sky. From the looks of it, the creations of Varda Elbereth would soon be dimmed by the rising moon.

When her belly was filled, sleepiness followed. Miriel decided to retire early. She left her pot so that she could scrub it clean the following morning, but took the spoon and frying pan with her. She then heard the distinctive sound of a limb snapping in two. The loud, sudden crack caused her to freeze.

She could hear a deep voice speaking in hushed tones. The hairs on her body then stood on end, albeit too late to give her ample warning that someone was approaching. With her heart racing in her chest, the Slayer had no other choice but to creep back down the hill to search for a hiding spot within the clearing.

�I smell meats, I tell ya,� she heard loud and clear from above.

Miriel scrambled into a hollow grouping of rocks, much like the one she had found on the road coming down from the Misty Mountains. She struggled to pull one of her swords from its scabbard, as she felt the earth beneath her bottom tremble slightly.

�Sees, I told ya,� said the same voice. �There�s smoke o�er there.�

The speech of the intruders seemed uncouth to Miriel�s ear. But what she really found disturbing was that she could feel the footfalls of whomever it was vibrating the ground. With her blade now in hand, she waited anxiously, trying not to breathe too loudly.

Two trolls came stomping down the hillside into the clearing.

The Slayer let out a startled gasp. Her hand then shot to her mouth, fearing that the creatures had heard her. While Miriel had not entered the Trollshaws, she had tread very close to one of the paths used by the trolls. The smoke of her fire and the faint smell of her stew had lured two of the beasts from their path.

�Man�s been �ere,� said one of the bulky figures, inspecting the fire.

The other reached down and grabbed the pot�s handle, picking up the cooking implement. To Miriel, the pot more closely resembled a handled cup in the troll�s hand.

�Empty,� he said, slightly disappointed. He then flung the pot aside. It flew through the air and crashed into a rock formation.

�Ya think he�s still �round, hiding somewhere?� said the first troll, his eyes scanning the clearing.

Miriel shrank back into her hidey-hole, hoping they wouldn�t spot her. She had never seen trolls before, only heard about them in tales and such. Words hadn�t quite captured their true essence, she now realized, seeing them in the flesh. They were big, broad and appeared grayish in color (although their coloring could�ve been from the moonlight). They reeked with a foulness that she could not truly describe in words, other than the trolls smelled like walking death.

�Where there�s fire, there�s bound to be man-folk lurking about,� answered the other troll.

�You look o�er there, Pete, and I�ll check o�er here!�

�Right,� answered his companion.

Miriel did not like her current predicament at all. She wasn�t sure if she should jump out, maybe catching the creatures at unawares, thus gaining the advantage, or if she should stay put, hoping they�d somehow overlook her.

You�re a Slayer. Slayers� slay, she thought to herself. Trolls are fell creatures, minions of the Dark Lord. Kill or be killed!

Miriel was irritated that she had wedged herself into a narrow space, seated on her behind no less. If she were to leap from her hiding spot, she would need to at least be on her knees. As she went to shift her position, her frying pan banged against the rock with a dull clang. She held her breath for moment, her eyes darting to the nearest troll to see if he had heard. He hadn�t.

Mumbling to her blade, �Don�t fail me now,� Miriel lunged from her hiding spot, and charged the nearest troll, screaming like a crazed lunatic.

Of course, that immediately attracted the attention of both of the towering creatures (who must have stood at least ten feet tall!) The troll she was rushing toward looked at her in surprise.

With her blade at the ready, she swiftly reached the first stunned beast, and drove her sword straight into his gut.

His jaw went agape, and he stood there for what seemed like several long minutes, blinking stupidly (perhaps from shock?), while looking down upon her much smaller form.

Miriel�s eyes widened to nearly twice their normal size with her astonishment that the troll hadn�t reacted in the way �normal� creatures would have, if stabbed. For a brief moment, she wondered if she could even take him down, much less two of them.

�It�s a girl-man, Pete,� he finally said, looking down at the blade protruding from his belly. �And she stabbed me!�

Pete, the other troll, was across the clearing on his knees, looking under a rock shelf. It was he that showed the first signs of anger. �Fred!� he bellowed, struggling to get to his feet.

The Slayer, growing more fearful by the second, quickly pulled out her sword. Black blood dripped from the metal as she quickly swung her weapon at the troll�s side, wanting to hack him in two, if at all possible. As the blade cut through him, he let out a sharp cry and staggered sideways, taking Miriel with him. Her blade had become lodged in the troll�s bone, cartilage, or maybe even its guts - she wasn�t sure which. All she knew was that when the beast toppled, she went down with him.

The troll moaned and groaned, wrestling with Miriel for control of the weapon.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

�I�m a�comin�, Fred! I�m a�comin!� bellowed the second troll, rapidly crossing the clearing.

Miriel rolled off the troll to his side, desperately trying to pry her weapon free from his body. She was anxious to get back on her feet before the other, more angry troll could reach her.

Unable to dislodge her weapon in time, the other beastly creature struck her from behind. He hit the side of her head, sending her flying several feet across the clearing. Not only did she see stars, but it also felt as if her brain had ricocheted against her skull, giving her an instant headache. The Slayer�s body collided with a large misshapen boulder, knocking the wind out of her and leaving her slightly dazed.

Trying to blink the stars away, Miriel began to wrestle with her other blade, trying to pull it from its scabbard.

�I�m bleedin�. I�m bleedin�,� cried out Fred, who remained on the ground, clutching his side.

The other troll, Pete, easily freed Miriel�s weapon from Fred�s side. He briefly tried to comfort his ailing comrade, which gave the Slayer time to regroup.

The stars turned into silver light, as Miriel�s eyes came into focus once again. Pete had gotten back to his feet before she had. He then let out a terrifically loud howl that instantly sent shivers down her spine. To the Slayer, it sounded as if the troll was signaling to others of his kind. And that was not a good feeling!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The thunderous footfalls of Pete came stomping toward Miriel. He wielded her sword, black blood still dripping from the blade. The sight of a monstrous troll charging her was quite terrifying. He raised the blade over his head, preparing to strike.

The Slayer had managed to scramble to her feet, just as the creature brought down the sword with a swish. With a yelp, she dove into a roll, and out of the way. The blade careened against the boulder, breaking in two.

Miriel immediately went on the offensive, moving much faster than the troll. This time, she aimed her weapon at his knees, thinking it would be much easier to hew the smaller part of his massive frame. Sliding onto her knees, she swung her blade, severing the creature�s leg, just above his kneecap.

Fred wailed in pain, unable to keep his balance. With blood streaming in torrents from the bottom of his thigh, he fell over onto a boulder, the hilt of the sword still clutched in his hand.

�Pete!� he cried out, as Miriel got back to her feet. She stepped back a few paces, then ran toward the injured troll and leaped into the air, doing a flip, and landing on the boulder behind the beast. Leaning out over the creature, she drove her blade into his chest, twisting and turning the blade so that it would pierce his organs. The Slayer watched as the life left the troll�s eyes. She withdrew her blade. Fred�s back slid along the boulder until he fell to the earth with a heavy thud. He was dead.

Standing upon the boulder, Miriel then shifted her gaze to Pete, who was still alive, whimpering and crying several yards away. She leaped from the boulder, and slowly approached the troll.

When she reached his side, he looked at her in horror. �You�re a girl-man. Girl-man don�t fight.�

A small smile crept to her face. �This one does,� she answered, sweeping down her blade, and hacking off the troll�s head.

Miriel didn�t allow herself time to savor her moment of triumph. She feared that the two dead trolls had already alerted others. She hastily gathered her things, angry that her pot had been damaged. She took it any way, along with what was left of her sword. She then hurried back to her sleeping tree, quickly packing up her stuff.

With her adrenaline pumping, she was able to pack all her things within ten minutes. She then set out on her journey again, traveling under the silver light of the moon�