No Home Here

Chapter Two: Numb

Estel’s first thoughts upon awakening were that he was suffocating. Desperately he thrashed against the heavy, dark object that was pinning his frozen body to the ground.

He lifted his arms in an attempt to push whatever was directly next to him off, but found that his arms were shaking too badly to be of much help to anyone, especially himself.

The object, however, let out a shrill whinny, and Estel let his head fall back in relief and trying to calm his racing heart, he turned his body so as to huddle closer to his horse. But once Sadron sensed that his master was back in the land of the living there was no possible way that the loyal horse would lose his owner again.

With an annoyed nicker the mount butted the man repeatedly until finally he groaned and gently batted at his horse’s head away. As he gradually began to come back to his senses the ranger found that he was lying in the middle of the road. It seemed that he had fallen off of Sadron and the horse had simply lain down next to his master.

Smiling slightly in spite of his predicament, he numbly pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on his horse’s back. When he was standing unaided again his mount heaved himself to his four feet and waited patiently while the young man lugged himself onto the broad, gray back.

Patting Sadron’s neck encouragingly, the pair set off again. Estel had little hope of finding any shelter, but he figured that he might at least be able to shorten the distance between his current position and Rivendell before he was forced by the cold to dig himself into a snow bank.

Looping the reins around his saddle horn, Estel clapped his newly freed hands together, straining to hear the pop of their impact over the howling snow. He frowned and caught the edges of his cloak between deadened fingers and clutched the thin, dripping piece of material closer to his body and closing his eyes.

He was sorely tempted to let the swaying motion of the horse walking underneath him lull his numb body to sleep, but was loathe to allow even the possibility of another tumble into his mind. His last descent from Sadron’s back had served only to further drench the man in ice crystals and to let his clothing soak up even more dampness.


As Estel huddled in on himself, he noticed with concern that he had stopped shivering, though he could hardly bring himself to care. All that he really wanted to do was lie down and sleep, maybe for a day or two. Even the white snow that blanketed the path looked inviting to his tired eyes.

Quickly he shook himself, mentally berating his spirit for being so lethargic. He resorted to pinching his arms viciously every time that he began to nod off. Quite swiftly he had a large array of angry red lines from his nails stretching over his bare arms. Cursing softly (a trick that his brothers had taught him) he forced his eyes to stay open, wondering why the lethargic mood had overtaken his senses.

He had all but given up hope when through the swirling snow a dull light flickered as flakes of the frozen precipitation drifted briskly past the source of the light. At first Estel didn’t trust that his own eyesight was not playing tricks on him, but then the young man blinked, and then blinked again without the flickering light disappearing.

A grin cracked over his frozen face, and then there was no time to spare for frivolities such as smiling. Slapping his hands once, twice against his legs in an attempt to get blood circulating to those extremities again, and then he hastily unwound Sadron’s reins from around the saddle horn.

Tugging the horse to a halt, Estel squinted through the snow towards where the faint, blinking light was shining; lighting up the path like a miniature beacon of hope for a lost traveler. Nodding in satisfaction, the young ranger turned the gelding; hope once again filling his numb body