A Mírea Nénar -Chapter two
It felt like her stomach was personally revolting against her. Each step forwards sent a sharp pain up her legs. ‘Shin splints, motherfucker.’ Smirking, she could feel how her lips trembled. The once cool soil beneath her feet had already turned to near scorching by midday. At least, it must have been midday by judging how the shadows crossed the land with the sun’s cycle through the sky. The closer she seemed to be getting to the source of the fire, the farther and farther away it seemed to be. - A cruel mirage that taunted and teased mercilessly. The sun overhead blared down in torturously hot waves. ‘I remember it being winter last I checked.’ Her mind supplied weakly. The heat of the sun felt like a blessing at first. How its golden rays chased away the darkness and damp of the night. Only to be replaced with a light so blinding and a heat that made beads of sweat trickle down her face and neck. Lured on by the smell of smoke and the promise of people, it brought a strange feeling to her chest. An anxious sort of happy feeling.
“I’m going to cry. I’m going to cry, I swear to God. Why is it so far?” Licking her chapped lips, her throat constricted from dryness. The once high-pitched tone of voice was now scratchy. It hurt to talk; it almost hurt to breathe.
Wiping beads of sweat from her brow with her forearm, she peeled it back to watch as the moisture glistened on her skin. There was so much it was practically dripping off her arm and into the dirt and foliage below. ‘I used to sweat like this during cardio.’ The thought came and went as quick as a flash when she brought her forearm to her mouth. Licking up as much as she could, soft wet sounds of slurping fell deaf on her ears. The only thought in her mind now was simple and animal: to conserve energy and stay hydrated. The taste of salt and the texture of her skin against her tongue made her wince. ‘I’m desperate.’ She repeated. Looping the phrase over and over, the thought of dying a slow and agonizing death from dehydration played in her mind. All the visceral images of what such a small thing as lack of water can do to a human body. Dehydration can occur when the body loses more fluid than it gains. That was a solid fact. Drilled in by years and years of physical education from what surely seems like memories of schooling or some sort of education.
But the memories were fuzzy at best, almost fading the longer the sun stayed in its perch overhead. ‘Anyone can become dehydrated,’ she noted. ‘It’s more serious with the elderly and young children.’ Stumbling, a small hiss passed through clenched teeth when her ankle rolled, and a sharp burn passed up her leg.
“Gah! - Ahh, shit! Shit, ow.” Bending over at the waist to glance down, a bead of sweat dripped from her forehead and glided to the tip of her nose in one smooth motion before dropping to the ground.
‘This is bad.’ The thought of it being bad currently froze her to the spot. If it was bad now, what would it be like later? There was no chance for stopping at a stream, no chance of finding some sort of shelter before nightfall. No chance of finding the person or people responsible for the campfire smoke. No chance of getting help of any kind.
The wind was hot and dry; only a trickle of a small breeze rushed through the land. With her newfound hearing, bugs chirped louder than ever before. Shuddering, the act of rising felt more herculean than anything else. The urge to cry burned at her eyelids, but no tears came out.
“"Hello?" There was only silence. Not a single soul lingered for miles around. She knew she was starving. Slowly withering away day by day the longer she went without food and drink. Her stomach churned.
Resuming pace, albeit a slower, more wobbly one. The forest in the distance looked closer than ever. No doubt her internal musings have done more than their fair share of passing the time away. The land around was beautiful. The more she focused on the landscape rather than the aching in her feet and legs, she noted how the trees stretched endlessly ahead. Their leaves shimmering like liquid glass in the hot breeze. Sometimes she thought she saw movement—a shadow against the expanse of bark, a flicker of a blue cloth—but when she blinked, there was only heat and dust. Soon the tall grasses gave way to the edge of the forest. Craning her head back to gaze all the way up at the trees. There was a burning ache blossoming in her neck.
“I don’t remember trees ever being this big.” The silence began to hum around her words, the air thick with the smell of pine and sap, too strange and heavy for what she was used to. These weren’t the cotton and oak trees of home. Even the pines mixed in with the throng of others seemed to emit a strange energy.
Hobbling past the first row of trees, more and more took up their place and loomed even taller as she walked deeper. The soil wasn’t as hot here. The shade from the leaves overhead made the undergrowth deliciously cool and crisp. The air felt less stuffy and more clean. The sounds of birds overhead in the branches sang and twittered away without a care in the world. Their birdsong called to one another, breaking the silence and filling it with the abundant sounds of life. Glancing down and then up and down once more to watch her footing. Her attention sharpened and waned from bird to branch to ground, then tree. Certain birds sounded familiar to her ears; others did not. Their calls were as beautiful as they sounded mysterious. Placing a hand on the trunk of the closest tree. The bark pressed deeply into the skin of her palm. Rough, scratchy, and cool. A welcome reprieve from the heat and the lingering sweat clinging to damp skin. Home was now behind her; the rest of this strange new world was ahead. Pressing her forehead close against the bark, the act of closing her eyes brought more solace than anything else could hope to offer in this moment. Sucking in a lungful of air through her nose, she paused only to cough out in small bursts.
There it was again. The smell made her nose twitch and her lungs ache. The smoke from the campfire. It smelled closer now. Closer, but not necessarily as strong as it once was. Grinning like a fool. Hope swelled in her chest.
“Hello!” The nearby birds tweeted in response to her call.
“Hello! Is anyone there? Can you help me?”
She smelled it again before she saw it—smoke, grey wispy tendrils that rose above the canopy of branches if she squinted hard enough upwards and into the distance. ‘Thank god, I’m not going to die here.’ The smoke was faint but undeniable. Her pace quickened, ignoring the pain in her leg and the burning in her ankle; a giggle rose past her lips as she trod forwards, limbs trembling. No reply came from her desperate calls. Just the sound of wind weaving through the leaves. Still, she smiled—a cracked, foolish little thing—and quickened her pace. Each step sent pain up her ankle, but she ignored it. The smoke was closer now. Real, not a hallucination brought on by heat. Stumbling at a quick pace, bursting onward, her giggles echoed faintly between the trees—a lost thing chasing hope through a forest too large to comprehend.
“Hello! Can you hear me?” Clumps of rich soil tickled her soles. ‘Feels good,’ she thought. ‘I feel good’ and ‘I’m not alone’ rushed through her head. If she were back home and lost in the woods, there would be other thoughts rushing in her head before the instinct of rushing towards the promise of salvation.
There was no fear of encountering any strange men, no fear of being murdered in cold blood or mistaken by a hunter for being some sort of wild game. The forest began to thin out the deeper she went, limping; light pooled in strange golden shards through the canopy. Smoke still clung to the air—faint but distinct, curling in lazy, translucent ribbons that tangled through the shafts of light. She slowed, almost afraid to disturb the scene ahead. Her breathing came in ragged bursts, shallow and uneven, and her chest ached with every inhale. Still, she pushed forward, the promise of fire—of someone—stronger than reason. Hunger renewed its presence within her empty and aching stomach. ‘If there are people, maybe they’re willing to share their food.’ The thought made her mouth water.
The smell grew thicker and heavier, the kind that clung to the back of her tongue. Swallowing the buildup of saliva from under her tongue. The viscous fluid soothes her parched throat for now. Then there, a few yards ahead, came the sight of it: a small clearing tucked between the trees, still and as quiet as a grave. Her heart sank.
Not a single soul in sight.
Her laughter died immediately.
Slowing her hobble, the smile on her lips sunk into a pensive expression. If she could cry, she would have. Instead, a deep ache settled in her chest. The remnants of a fire lay in the middle, reduced to a pit of white ash and blackened logs. A single thread of smoke drifted upward, twisting into the air before fading into nothing. Still mid-step, her legs buckled, sending her to the ground in a stunned heap. For a long moment, she just lay there. The silence pressing down on her like a weight, so thick it almost felt alive. The birds that had filled the forest with song moments ago had gone still, the world holding its breath in tandem with her.
Her eyes darted from one side of the clearing to the other. A small bedroll lay half-unfurled near the fire pit, its edges stiff with dirt. It looked smaller than usual. ‘Too small for a fully grown man or woman. Better sized to fit a child, but what sort of child goes camping this far into the woods?’ The more she looked, the more she saw. There were five in total. Five small bedrolls and a metal cup, overturned, lay by a patch of trampled grass. She crouched slowly, moving from lying stiffly to moving to hands and knees. Reaching out for the trampled grass and the remnants of the fire, her fingertips brushed along the ground as if she were touching something sacred. Sunburnt fingers brushed the rim of the pit, ash crumbling soft and cool, smearing black along tender skin. In a way, it was. The first chance of meeting other people, of coming so far from where she woke. ‘They were here. Not long ago.’ The idea stuck like a splinter. Smoke still clung to the air, proof and taunt all at once. And there was nothing. The revelation stung more than any blow that could ever be inflicted on her. Past or present, she had never felt anything like this. A soft cry bubbled in her throat, only to be halted by the feeling of grass. The ground was still warm—not fresh, but not cold either.
“Hello?” she tried again, barely above a whisper.
The clearing was empty, but not untouched. A few paces away, a small pack leaned against a tree, its flap open. The contents spilled across the ground—a tin plate, a bit of rope, and a ragged scrap of cloth. Nothing that spoke of who it belonged to. Short people, obviously, but there was nothing else. Nothing that gave away what kind of people were camping here what may have been hours or even minutes ago. Only the quiet order of something left behind in a hurry. Crawling slowly and scanning the trees. The light began to shift between them. Golden rays flickering like something moving just out of sight. Midday was long past over; night would soon be falling. Her mouth felt dry again.
“I… I saw your fire,” she tried. “I didn’t mean to—I just—” Her voice faltered.
All at once, the forest felt closer, the shadows too thick between the trees. Grief gnawed deeply in her bones. It was as if the whole world narrowed down to one point and had stopped altogether. Pressure bloomed in waves under her temples. As the light dimmed, evening clouds rolled in, veiling the sun. That giddy hope she’d carried this far began to unravel, leaving only the hollow taste of smoke and fear in her mouth.
Rising from her crouch, she took one hesitant step backward, then another.
“Whoever you are,” she said softly, “you can keep your damn camp.”
And yet, even as she turned to go, her gaze kept drifting back—to the smoldering pit, the forest that seemed to breathe around her. Something had happened here. Something that urged her to linger in place for a second longer. When the next gust of wind came, it dragged with it a sound akin to a grunt.
The sudden guttural tone makes her squeak. Cold dread drops over flushed skin as if it were an icy bucket of water. Turning round once more, A flash of pain throbs in her ankle, a protest at the sudden movement. There, standing only a yard away. He is a man. A short, bearded, and heavily armed man. The man stood stock-still, his steel-grey eyes scanning over every bit of exposed flesh with a mix of curiosity, caution, and concern. He looked as though he had stepped out from the very bark and stone of the world. ‘He looks like he could rip me in two if we wanted.’ His beard was thick, coal black, braided in parts, and flecked with streaks of grey and silver. His armor—if it could be called that—was forged of overlapping scales of tough leather and layers of cotton. Across his back hung a broad-headed axe, its blade dull in the evening light, but the edge carried that particular shine only a weapon well cared for could hold. His thick brows furrowed.
He spoke again, slower this time, but no less wary. “ "Noldorinai? Manû shak dûm azghal giglar-nu?"
Staring, the only action that felt safe to do was to hold up her hands. Palms facing up and outwards to show she meant no harm. Though her state of bareness allowed her nothing to hide. Slowly curling in, her shoulders hunched and hairs rising on the back of her neck, she warily eyed the blade of his axe.
“Wh-what? I—I don’t understand.” The croak of her strained vocal cords makes her grimace. The grimace isn’t lost on the dwarf either; at the sound of her voice, she can see how his eyebrows rise in confusion before settling down in a furrow once more. She could feel his eye roaming, his mind no doubt swirling with questions.
At her blank stare. The man sighed. With one large meaty hand, he closed his fingers around one of her outstretched hands. A mixed look of concern and disgust painted his face as he scanned her over. Whether it was by how she looked or because of her circumstances, she couldn’t say. The immediate warmth and heat from another living person made a choked-back sob crawl from her esophagus.
“I don’t—” She shook her head, chest tightening, the sound of his deep voice vibrating through the air like the rumble of thunder. “I don’t know where I am.”
The dwarf’s gaze softened then, almost imperceptibly. He looked her over again—not as one might inspect a threat, but as a craftsman examines a strange tool, unsure of its purpose yet unwilling to discard it. The forest creaked quietly around them, branches whispering in the dying light. The dwarf’s grip was firm but not cruel—a weight both grounding and startlingly real. Bristlingly aware of his calloused hand, the skin rough as stone, warm with life. Her own fingers felt frail in comparison, bones and sinew too soft, too breakable. His thumb pressed briefly against the heel of her palm, as if testing her—the texture of her skin, the tremor in her hammering pulse. He muttered something under his breath, deep and rhythmic, his words carrying the resonance of the earth itself. She caught only fragments—Noldorinai—sounds that meant nothing, yet struck something ancient in her chest. His grey eyes, sharp beneath the heavy ridge of his brow, studied her with open suspicion. His gaze lingered on the curve of her collarbone, the smudges of dirt across her ribs, and the wild hair clinging damply to her face. Sunburnt patches littering her skin. Not lustful, not cruel—but wary, as if he’d found something that shouldn’t exist.
Her breath shuddered. “I don’t… understand what you’re saying.”
He blinked once, slowly. Then turned as more short men came into view. The other six, no doubt, lingered in her mind after she stumbled into their campsite. Feeling self-conscious with so many eyes trained on her. She opened her mouth, but the sound that emerged wasn’t speech—just a dry, broken rasp.
The man sighed deeply, adjusting the axe at his back, before nodding toward the rest. “Zarak-durbâd-ûlû, gabilim kuli nax. Baraz-dûm izkal gundûr nâz."
His words slipped past her like water, their meaning lost in his deep, rolling cadence. Yet the tightening of his grip said enough—firm, steady, commanding her trust. He drew her a step closer, the motion careful but certain. Another figure approached, shorter still, with hair the color of burnt chestnut, auburn if she looked closely. His beard looked more untamed than the one holding her wrist. It jutted unevenly in a way that made it look like broken rock. Without a word, he shrugged off his heavy coat and draped it around her shoulders, his movements slow and deliberate—as though she were a skittish creature that might bolt at any sudden sound.
“What are you?” She whispered. The shared look the men give each other gives nothing away. ‘Hopefully they can help me.’ The sound of an empty tummy breaks the silence with a soft rumble. Immediately an embarrassed flush warms her cheeks. At the sight the brown-haired man smiles softly, no doubt understanding what an empty stomach feels like. Gently prying away the black-haired dwarf’s hand. He leads her close to the firepit. The others were already building the fire, and the rest were setting out their sleeping mats once more. Easing her gently down to the ground. The dwarf flinches when a pained whimper passes her lips. A look of shock paints his sun-beaten features. Immediately curling her legs under her bottom, her hands clutch at the thick coat, pulling it around her shoulders tightly for modesty and warmth. Slowly crouching down beside her, he gestures to his chest first.
“W-what?” Biting her lower lip. Her frightened eyes wander his broad frame.
‘Oh, that must be his name.’ Licking her lips, she shakes her head as he gestures to his chest again. With her eyes cast down at the ground, her gaze switches between his chest and the third man working on the fire. At her silence, the dwarf hums softly. His own gaze followed hers to watch his companion tend to the fire. The heavy coat settled around her shoulders and provided a warmth and comfort that she didn’t know she needed. It smelled of smoke and something metallic—iron, maybe—and the faint musk of sweat and earth. She sank into it without thinking, fingers curling into the rough weave. The dwarf, Farin, her mind supplied, kept his movements slow and deliberate, as if she were some frightened animal that might bolt at the first sharp sound or raised voice.
He said something again, a low rumble that vibrated through the air rather than pierced it. She caught none of the meaning, only the tone—steady, patient. The words of the first dwarf came sharper, clipped syllables traded between them. They sounded almost like the striking of flint: brief sparks that flared and vanished.
“I don’t understand,” she rasped, shaking her head. Her throat burned with every word. “I—I can’t understand you.”
Concerned blank looks. A few low exchanged words. The black-haired one tilted his head slightly, as though trying to puzzle her out. Then, slowly, he pointed to himself.
“Karin,” he said. The sound was round and deliberate.
He huffed, amusement breaking through his beard. “Karin.”
Close enough, she supposed.
The other dwarf spoke again, his tone softer now. He gestured toward the tree line, then back to her. It was a question. As if he were asking ‘where did she come from?’ or, ‘Where ‘If there were more of her kind coming.’ She hesitated, unsure of what to do or say. Her legs ached too much from the long walk to run, and the woods behind her felt like a grave waiting to be filled. When she shook her head uncertainly, the two shared a deeply pensive look.
The black-haired dwarf, Karin, shifted his weight from side to side. With her hearing, the shifting of his weight and the rustle of fabric and leather armor sounded louder than it should have. His voice dragged her attention back for a moment, almost flinching from the thought of him speaking to her; his eyes, she noted, were focused on Farin. Together their voices melded like stone against stone. One of the other dwarves approached; another ginger. This one, carrying a kettle to the now steady flame. He moved with a tiredness that spoke of long days and nights with nothing but company as a source of nourishment.
When the sound of boiling water rumbled within the kettle, there came with it the scent of faint herbs. Ones they must have picked along their journey. She didn’t even realize that she had leaned closer until Farin let out a small huff of amusement. His nostrils flared and eyes twinkled with mirth, a sight that brought to mind a flicker of something familiar. Like a grandfather watching his grandchild attempting something new for the first time. Watching him move slowly, he brought his hands to his pockets. Retrieving a small bundle of cloth, he unwrapped it and held it out to her, revealing strips of dried meat.
She stared at it, half in disbelief. “For me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. He said something that might have been yes or might have been nothing at all. But his eyes softened; he recognized the sound of hunger in her tone.
The meat was tough and salty and tasted faintly of smoke and fat. It hurt to chew, her jaw protesting after so much dryness, but she didn’t care. Every bite felt like life clawing its way back into her veins. Her empty belly singing with joy at finally being filled. Farin watched, brow furrowed as though assessing her reaction, before passing her a small dinted cup. The liquid inside was murky and warm—a strange taste, bitter and sharp—but it went down easily, and her god-gifted dry throat loosened with every swallow. The dwarves spoke among themselves in murmurs, the rhythm of their tongue deeply hypnotic. She couldn’t tell if they were debating about her presence or simply talking about their journey. -or if she was a burden worth keeping around. Against better judgment, she felt herself sagging into the coat. Deeply rooted exhaustion crawled, creeping up her limbs like weathered vines. The steady heat from the fire and the weight of the coat were enough to lull her to drowsiness.
Karin said something again, a rumbling murmur as he pointed to the bedroll beside the fire. His tone left no room for refusal.
‘Probably wants me to rest,’ she guessed quietly, voice hoarse.
Her body obeyed before her mind could argue. Whose bedroll she was lying in, she had no clue. Only accepting what was being offered with grateful limbs and a tired mind. The coat slipped further around her shoulders as she lay down. The murmuring of the dwarves faded into a steady rhythm—the gentle crackle of the fire and its glowing embers scratched at her brain in a way that felt familiar. ‘Campfire Videos, I loved those.’. With a warm belly and a sense of peace. Sleep came easily.
Man-nu dîn? Baraz? (What’s this then? A thief?)
"Noldorinai? Manû shak dûm azghal giglar-nu?" (Elven-kind? What's a young thing like you doing here?)
Tumunzada Westron-nu? (Can you speak Westron?)
"zarak-durbâd-ûlû, gabilim kuli nax. Baraz-dûm izkal gundûr nâz." ("this wandering lost thing, the elves have no shame. Losing one of their own.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
