Ugyan m�g  a Harry Potteres lemarad�saimat nem hoztam be, ezt az�rt megosztom.

A sz�veg els� 2 mondata r�gi maradv�ny; f�lbehagyottan lapult a tolkieni vil�gban j�tsz�d� alkot�saim k�z�tt.

Most eszembe juttatta az egyik prompt �s befejeztem az �r�st. Kezdetleges, ny�gvenyel�s... de az eny�m.

Elbesz�l�: Egy tetsz�leges K�sza. 
Helysz�n: A Vadon

Enjoy!

Thunder

Children of stars they were; born in the shadow cast by the brightest light of that age and so tall and lean they grew, like the hornbeam trees in beech forests.

They were the perfect chord; their symphony was a dark, but magnificent one.

They helped us often, came to us often in hours of need. Most often they would come, they would fight with us and leave as soon as the fight was over.

Sometimes – if some of us would injure seriously – they would stay and help. They used herbs we had not even heard of, they cleaned and bandaged wounds with precision and practiced ease. But even then, they would never stay to hear our gratitude; as soon as the job had been done, they left.

This one time in autumn, however… This one time, they stayed for the night. Just after dusk Orcs raided our camp unexpected, and – though unprepared and severely outnumbered we were – we stood our ground and fought with all we had. They turned up right in the middle of our strife again, precisely when needed most. How they knew… I know not. They came upon our foes powerfully, unpredictably like nature itself. The Orcs had not a chance against them. Ten or twenty… it seemed like numbers did not even matter to them; with perfectly coordinated moves, perfectly synchronized actions they cut through their enemy, until none was left to fight. Three of them fled in the end and for a moment it seemed they would pursue them. I’d been cut and injured and as I lay on the ground, I caught a glimpse of their gaze then, as they looked at each other. The fire burning in those eyes chilled me to my bones. If stars indeed have flames, then they are cold like the deepest of wells. But then they saw me as well, and slowly it seemed, they became aware of our condition: injured and exhausted, most of us lying scattered on the ground. The flames went out in their gaze and – as swiftly and efficiently as before – they began their care.

They gave me a drink, a sip of some remedy that was cold and clear like the light of the Moon itself, and yet warmed me and made me strong enough to help. And since I had some affinity for healing myself, I worked with them, carrying out their quiet, calm instructions with rudimentary skills, while the others reorganized our camp and prepared our meal for the night.

And that night, they stayed. They ate with us (we tried not to stare, bewildered by their very much human appetite), they drank mead with us, and though they did not talk much, they listened, attentive and caring as we shared our troubles.

Later on, they sung above the flames of our bonfire, quietly, softly. Fever came over me then, black fever from my wounds and so I do not know if I dreamt it or if it was real, but they seemed to be glowing in the darkness, with a faint but clear and definite light. As I shivered in the cold night, one of them placed a palm on my brow and comforting warmth seemed to have flown through my veins, carrying me into a deep and balmy sleep.

 By the next morning they disappeared again, leaving us relieved and disappointed at the same time.

They were the perfect storm, the perfect conjunction of power and tension, and we feared and loved them with equal measure.