The lovely @anerea-lantiria asked me for a prompt with phrase 4. the clinging mists from this list - thank you so much! Here's 200 words for Amrod post-Doriath. I tried for a more Gen thing, but there's still CW: mention of blood.
A Drabble a Day in August, Day 6
Lost
A squirrel scurried up a tree, its soft pads muffed. Then, nothing. The woods were eerily quiet. The mists clung to Amrod’s clothes and hair as though he were another plant, another rock. Tried to swallow him into its hollow mantle.
It was as if it knew, somehow. Knew there were two little children hiding. Tow boys who did not want to be found – at least not by them.
The monsters who had destroyed their home, slaughtered their people. Their father. Left them in the woods to die.
Was this what they were now? Monsters? Assassins of children? Amrod tried to bury the images of Alqualondë from his mind but it was useless: whenever he closed his eyes, there was blood splattered on Amras’ face, on Maedhros’, on them all. He recalled his father’s eyes, blood-shot and frantic from that day forth until his death.
Blood had followed in their footsteps ever since.
Amrod wound his arms around his chest and breathed slowly. The mist parted before his eyes only to swallow him back again. It was strangely comforting. It was as though he lived in another world.
When Amras called him, Amrod wished he, too, would not be found.
