During the Third War

A deep, rumbling laugh echoed in her long ears. She’d gripped the sword the way Silannah had shown her. She hadn’t been prepared for the sheer force of the hit she’d take from the orc’s hammer. Now she was crumpled on the floor, her vision full of sparkling stars. Looking up, she saw the hulking creature reach out, felt him rip the sword from her long fingers. Something guttural issued from his thin lips. He turned, cutting down the family she had wanted to protect. refocusing on her, he brought the sword to bear. The pain searing from her gut was the last thing she remembered from that day.

Tindomiel. Tindomiel wake up. It’s time to wake up, dear.” The gentle voice of a violet haired Druid brought her around. “Don’t try to get up. You’re still in bad shape.”

She opened her eyes slowly, gasping. “No! No, don’t!” She looked around panicked as a soft hand was placed on her arm. After a moment, she realized the battle was over. She was in a small cottage, sunlight filtering through the window above her. “Wait. Where am I?”

“You are in my home. Not far from Warsong, but far enough to be safe for the time being. My name is Diadrin. Someone told me your name is Tindomiel, is that right?” He asked gently.

“Yes. How did I get here?”

“A couple of Sentinals brought you in. They had bound your wounds, but they had no healers among them. We’ve done what we could. I am afraid my powers of healing are not so great as to be able to repair all of it. But you will live.”

“All of it?” She tried to sit up, nearly losing consciousness. Crying out, she fell back against the pillows. Her fingers found the long ragged scar. Tracing it slowly, she discovered it ran from her ribs to her groin. “Do you mean I cannot?”

“No dear, you cannot. I am sorry. Fate has decided that path will never be yours.”