================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Morning < About 9:02 AM >
IC day is: Ormenel <Heavens-day>
IC date is: 34 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: New <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Thu Sep 13 15:20:56 2007
=====================================================================
Field Hospital
You are in a small clearing cut into the thickets. All about you, the bushes and trees grow thick and unwavering, blocking
out most of the sunlight and dimming the atmosphere. Despite the lack of sunlight or moonlight, the clearing gives of a
calm, quiet, secure feeling. Here is where the Cuigrithweg have made their Field Hospital. Several woven mats are laid about
on the ground in neat rows and a pair of small chests rest at the north side of the Hospital. High above the mats, a large
tarp is strung to provide some shelter on the off chance that it should rain.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
(Misc Healers @emitted by Galharth and Maglind)
Ostiel
Tauriel
=====================================================================

Angelien knows from experience - don't bother the wounded. Hesitant to actually enter the clearing of the Field Hospital,
she lingers just on the fringe, tracing the perimeter with careful quiet footsteps as she makes her way toward a shadowy
corner. As she sinks into the gloom, the maiden sinks to the ground, her legs crossing comfortably as she confirms her new
sentinel position to watch over her wounded fellows.

Arahisie makes his way to the edge of the field hospital clearing as well, the Herald looking worried into towards the
interior. Not wishing to desturb the healers at the work he waits word. Feeling responsible for all those wounded having
lead this charge.

"The Lady was on the border...." The whisper echoes along the path towards the Field Hospital.

"....Dead had she not been there...." Rises another whisper.

Bursting into the Field hospital with a sense of urgency, four Sentinel bear forth the still and gravely wounded form of
Galharth. His form is badly bruised, and his right leg a mangled mess. The filth clinging to his body is obviously of Uruk
sources.

The healers were not unwarned. Before the murmur of voices nears the calmest of clearings, those attendants who are not at
the bed-sites of others have clustered around, preparing cots and bandages and songs for the wounded and -- a note of fear
hums in the air -- the dead.

An elder healer, a towering ellon with near-white hair, turns to Arahisie. "How did you find him?" he asks quietly.

Arahisie turns to the elder healer and says soflty, "The lady located him. We did what we could to rescue him but they did
this before I could...." his eyes looking haunted as he glance towards the healing area.

Angelien's cerulean eyes remain hooded out of innate self-preservation; seeing too much can be devastating for the soul.
Quietly she watches as Galharth is carried in, her lips pressed in a sorrowful line

The wounded who arrived earlier look up from their cots as Attendants move about them healing their hurts. For those
visible, their wounds are light, and yet any blood spilled is to be grieved.

A soft grey cloak covers most of the Tailors form, clearly something given to comfort his still form. Attendants move around
him, washing away dirt and blood. As one, a golden haired elleth looks beneath the cloak, she gasps as if struck. "Such
filth!" she cries out as she and another wisks away the burlap covering his form. "Burn it!" says another. "Its vial stench
reeks of Uruk."

The healer closes his eyes. "Rest and be well," he rumbles, addressing both the Marchwarden and the sentinel who sits
unwounded. "Worse times are yet to come."

He sweeps away then, white hair flowing as he parts a line of attendants. "Quickly! Get him to the cot we have prepared.
Assess his wounds, and prepare the herbs."

A soul wrenching gasp for air comes forth from the Tailor as his face pinches in pain and anguish. Both wounds and the trama
of captivity lay now within the hands of the healers. Deep within the darkness, Galharth struggles for freedom, but from
what remains a mystery. As the wretched cloth is removed and the filth is washed away he struggles. Just as suddenly as he
moved, he falls still, and even the Attendants check to see his condition for his breath is so shallow.

"He suffers," says an attendant to the healer.

Still, mute, Angelien watches, wary of the healers and others that mill about. Her gaze lingers for a long watchful moment
on Galharth, and then flickers to Maglind who she gazes at with just as much concern. The fragile line of her lips crumple
into a frown, and in an attempt at self-distraction she begins to fiddle with belongings. Still here, still present, and
even randomly watchful, but now it's in the hands of the healers and she is helpless, therefore evasive are her thoughts
when it comes to the exorbitant pain her brethren are in.

Behind them, a slow song rises, spiraling into the leaning trees.

"I know," he says, reaching out to brush the ellon's forehead. Sad eyes close, flickering under their lids, seeing,
searching. An attendant brings a towel and a steaming basin.

"How did this come to be?" the healer whispers. "Oh, Lady Galadriel..."

"His leg," A dark haired attendant says in a soft whisper, "Can we save it?"

An ancient figure steps forward to look upon the deep wounds of the leg, and she frowns. "The bones are broken," she says
sotly as she check upon each of the three wounds, "And the flesh laid wide open." Looking at the staff present she frowns.
"I do not know, for now let us focus on stopping the bleeding."

"It was broken once before," adds the white-haired ellon in a quiet murmur, with his eyes still closed. "Whether he will
walk again is a question of his own will. ... Apply the poultice."

He leans close to Galharth's ear, lowering his voice to a calm stream of words. "Rest. All is safe now, but you must rest."

Plucking a broken arrow from her quiver, Angelien inspects the ragged splinter of narrow wood. Twirling it round and round,
pinched between her fingers, she fixates until her mind travels elsewhere, beyond this meadow, beyond this fair wood, beyond
this dark place of man.

Long finger gently sweep over swollen flesh, "Here," the healer says to the other. "Yet broken again, days past I would
say." moving a gentle touch down the raw leg, she frowns. "And here this day, above the knee, and the ankle and foot."
Considering the leg as would an artist consider a canvas, she looks towards an Apprentice. Bring me the bindings and wood
stays so that we might set the leg."

In a quick whirl of movement, Angelien is on her feet, her bow and quiver once again at her back. Steps quick, yet silent,
she retraces her path back to the forest trail beyond. Quiet, a mere whisper on a breeze, a small song of healing and
happier times drifts along behind her, dipping and weaving about each wounded elf the maiden passes.

A wide-eyed youngster brings the wooden contraption, held in hands already stained with Galharth's blood. "He will not run
again," says the white-haired one wearily. "But for now ... save his life and spirit."

Another awakes. Maglind opens his eyes slowly, and finds for once that he is unguarded. Pulling himself up, the warden
squints at the clustered group some distance away. "What is happening?" he asks the air, turning to get out of bed.

An Apprentice near Maglind hears his question, and kneels gracefully beside him. "The Tailor's been found, and the beasts
have been driven off," she whispers soothingly. "Now rest Warden, you need to heal yourself."

With the help of the Attendants, the fair haired Healer looks to the Male Healer among them. "Can you help me set the leg."
She asks softly. To the Attendants, she nods and they move forward to hold him down. The leg, mangled and torn resists the
movement due to swelling. This does not stop the Healers, and the Tailor cries out as they straighten the mangled bones.

"Yes," says Maglind slowly, blue eyes flickering with worry to the other bed. He prepares to lie back down, but a cry
sounds, from a voice the warden knows too well. "I must see him! I will have to speak with him and tell him..." Maglind
bites his lip and looks the other way.

Moving his hand away from Galharth's forehead, the male healer reaches into his robes. "Dose him with this," he calls,
giving an attendant a small, clear-filled vial. And then he moves to the fair-haired one's side. "Is it wise to do it with
so much swelling?"

"Hush Warden, you too have hurts that must heal." The Apprentice says softly as she reaches forth to sooth the Gaurd. "They
work on him now, worry not."

An Attendant reaches forth to the male healer, "What of his pain?" the dark haired elleth asks. She pauses before
administering the liquid, but clearly worries at the tailors discomfort. Again Galharth calls out as his leg is pulled, and
as before he struggles with some unseen demons.

"It will help with it," says the ellon, hurriedly brushing back a lock of white hair as he bends over the wound. "But for
the anguish of his fea, I have not the strength to quell that. Is the Lady Galadriel still upon the borders?"

Galharth calls again; Maglind sits bolt upright. "Will he ... be better?"

An Attendant shrugs her shoulders. "There has been no word yet. She, Mia, or Ostiel will come." Certainly the three known
for their skills in the spiritual nature would not be long away once word is out.

The Apprentice near the Warden sets a hand upon his shoulder. "Rest Maglind and worry not. The Healers want you to rest.
Time will come soon where you can see him for yourself." She looks over to the working healers and frowns. "If you wish, I
will see to having you moved so you might speak when you both are able.

"No," Maglind replies bitterly, knotting his hands in his lap. "No, thank you. This is good enough." He lies back down:
those who would observe might choose to ignore the tear that slides down his face.

"I pray that they come soon," mutters the white-haired healer, holding the wooden frame tightly. "He is hurt deep inside."

Nothing is said to the ellon Healer's words, for indeed he is right. "First the body must be saved," the light haired elleth
Healer says gravely. "Much blood has been lost and these wounds are severe." She sighs softly. "And we've still not touched
upon the wounds of his body.

"I could move you closer now, Warden," The Apprentice says softly as she catches sight of an empty cot. "But you'd have to
promise to be quiet and rest until a Healer can see to your wounds."

"But without a spirit the body is empty," murmurs the healer, absently wiping his hands on the wide sleeves of his robe. "Is
the leg in place? We must wind it tightly."

"I'll wait," Maglind says firmly, wrapping shaky hands deep in the sheets. "The Dunadan Aragorn helped me earlier."

"You are brave Maglind," the apprentice says with a gentle smile. "And well thought of by many. The Tailor will know of your
concern even if he can not speak it now."

A scream emits from Galharth's lips, and he attempts to fold himself over into a ball. A memory of a vicious strike, or
perhaps a pain upon his fea? From the bruising of his body, it is hard to tell. "Hold him down!" snaps the female healer.
"We still need to strap the leg so that it'll heal straight." The crafters movement is harsh, and the wounds seep through
the poultice. Worried looks are exchanged between the Attendants.

Maglind flinches again, stopping his ears tightly. "I doubt it."

"Hurry," the other healer rumbles, sweeping over to Galharth's head. Reaching out, both hands go for the tailor's shoulders,
gentle but stubbornly firm, bathed in gloomy light. "Galharth!"

The screams give way to pants as the Tailor seems to have trouble breathing over the pain. "T'is like childbirth," a young
apprentice says. The instant she speaks, and Attendant touches her arm and offer a deep frown. "Now is not the time to put
forth humor," the dark haired attendant says.

"Trust...." The Apprentice by Maglind's cot says. "You speak of him as a fool, and yet we can tell he is your friend."

"He is both," says Maglind, gazing bleakly at the tarp overhead. "A great fool and a great friend."

The white-haired healer releases Galharth carefully, stepping back to assess the wounds once more. "What more can we do?" he
sighs, letting an apprentice pass by with a wad of bandages.

The Apprentice offers Maglind an understanding smile. "He'll be fine..." she says pausing to glance towards those working
with the Tailor. "I'm sure..... I hope."

Galharth's jaw clamps tightly and his breathing grows labored as if suffering. Clearly he is as his right leg swells from
each axe wound, and the bruises are too numerous to count. "Shall we give him water?" An Apprentice asks of the Healers.

"Wet his lips." The healer ellon brushes past, uncapping a jar of yellow salve and holding it out to the fair-haired elleth.
"We don't have much left, but please use this on his bruises."

Maglind's lip trembles as the voices float on the still air, and he wraps the sheets tightly about himself.


The soft sounds of singing slowly begin to fill the area as the young elleth Tauriel steps near the area.
"Fuuuuuunnnggusss... My little red Fuuuuuunnnguuss...." the elleth sings to herself, in her unmistakable, slightly off key
tone. She is singing the same pointless tune she always does when gathering... "Ahh there you are!!..
Fuuuuuuuunnnngggussss... My little red funnnnngguuuuuss...". Dropping gracefully at the foot of a mellryn, Tauriel produces
a green hilted knife and gently cuts at the red fungi surrounding its roots. Quite pleased she seems, and quite immersed.
The elleth does not seem to notice anyone else in the area.. Carefully she fills a brown satchel hanging from her shoulder.
"OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUNNNNNGGGGGUUUUSSSSS!!!!"

Suddenly, a faint 'rustle' comes from bushes not three feet from the camp, to the far left, where a patch of tightly spaced
mallorns conceals what may be causing the noise. It may be a deer...it may be an enemy. However, the fact that this creature
has gotten so close without causing even the slightest crunch of leaves before now may speak volumes as to the allegiance.
Indeed, the sound is deliberate in it's abruptness and timing, and therefore may have been purposeful.

An Apprentice reaches out with a moist cloth, and Galharth turns his head away, muttering "Poision...." Is this a fear? Or
have they done something? It's impossible to tell. His lips continue to move and intermittent words escape. "Wrong......
boot...." He makes no sense.

"He won't take it" the Apprentice mutters softly as she tries once more. "He has so many bruises." Another Apprentice says.
"Which ones first?"

Moving to the tailor's wrist to take his pulse, the white-haired ellon glances anxiously at the other healer. "Could it be
that they have poisoned him? Someone, check the first bandages used."

"Who goes there?" This question is not directed to the fungus-hunting elleth, but rather to the rustle of the forest --
strange as it may seem, hope flies fleet in his dark eyes.

"Peace, Maglind," comes soft as a meadowlark from the bushes, in a melodious, tranquil tone and voice that may be familiar
to those gathered. For a moment there is silence, then the twigs and leaves part...and Ostiel steps into the clearing
cautiously, caring a basket beneath her arm, a pouch in her other hand. She looks to Galharth, to Maglind, to the others
gathered here, and back. "I thought," she whispers, "That I might find you here."

"Is it the Master who's the fool, or the servant?" Galharth snaps back. "I couldn't find my own way home and yet you expect
me to provide you with a clue?" Wincing as his leg quivers in pain he pauses his words long enough to shake his head. "I
know nothing of use, I am no one, from no where." Shifting his position he looks to the woman as she speaks in her vial
language.

"There is no sign of poison." An Apprentice says quickly as she examines the bandages applied at the border. "Perhaps it is
only fear?"

"I've been here for a while," says Maglind quietly, eyes flickering away. "Ostiel, Galharth ..."

"He was taken and just recently brought home," finishes the white-haired ellon, passing smoothly between the rows of cots.
"I fear his spirit has taken some damage. Could you speak with him, Ostiel?"

Sitting in the shade at the base of a great mellryn, well away from the field hospital. Tauriel scrapes away at the red
fungus which grows on the exposed roots before her. Smiling pleasently, her hair falls loose as her body shakes with each
stroke of the knife. Immediately flicking the hair back behind her ear stump she continues with her cutting.. "Ohhh
funggguuuuss...". Tearing a handful of red fungus from the mellryn she places it carfully into her satchel and refocuses on
the last plume remaining.

Weakly the Tailor draws his hand away, or at least he tries. "No more..." he mutters. "Tailor..." Growing deadly still, only
his breath offers movement of his chest. Does he withdraw within? Perhaps so. Then suddenly, blind unfocused eyes flash
open. "WARGS!" With that he falls once more into a deadly still silence.

His answer? The usual. "I'm fine," murmurs Maglind, drawing the sheets over his head.

The healer with white hair stands stock-still at Galharth's side, resting a finger on the other wrist -- taking his pulse?
He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

Digging her heels into the dirt, Tauriel slides on her bum closer to the mellryn, more spacifically, the last red fungus
plume. Bitting her bottom lip, she cuts into a particuarly tough piece. "Come on, come on.." she says softly to the redden
growth as she saws. Her brown cape hides her form from on-lookers. Only her head and hands are visable. Her hair is
completely shaken loose around her half-missing ear. Completely fixated on her task, she does not 'appear' to be intrested
in any other happinings in the area. "Ohhhh Funnngggguuussss, soooonnn you'llll beeee minnnnnneeee" she sings happily, her
head bobbing without care..

Ostiel does not look convinced, but lets Maglind slide out of sight, reaching once again for Galharth's hand. Dark hair
falls onto his left shoulder as the Attendant leans over him, pressing her warm mouth up against the Tailor's pointed ear.
"Galharth," she whispers persuasively, no doubt a bit of healer's incentive therein, "Galharth...it is Ostiel."

The Tailor lays deadly still as the whisper touches upon his ear. His breathing remains shallow and labored, and his
coloring pale. Would any step back to take notice, his lower lip quivers and a tears stream down from his eyes unchecked.
"lost..." he whispers. Does he speak to himself or to the Attendant? It is impossible to say.

The other healer turns away, keeping a mild touch on Galharth's wrist -- but his gaze is directed at Tauriel. "Elleth," he
calls calmly, "are you wounded? This is the field hospital."

"Gotcha!" Tauriel exclaims as she tears the final piece of red fungus from the mellryn. Pausing for a moment to admire the
plant, she turns it around thoughtfully in her hands before sliding into the satchel resting on the ground beside her.
Snapping the bag shut, a smile crosses her lips and she raises to her feet. Wiping any dirt away that may have attached
itself to her gown, she centers her cape on her shoulders and begins to step away. Hands clasping tightly at the satchel
strap crossing her torso. After only a few steps, she is addressed by the healer and quickly she turns to face him. "Oh..
No..." she says with a bright youthful smile, her eyes darting into the talon. Upon seeing the assembled group within, her
brow furrows slightly but she does not approch. After all its best she does not concern herself with problems in lorien, she
will only obsess about it and get into trouble again. Taking a breath, she looks back to the healer and puts on a smile
pushing the injured ones out of her mind. "Just collecting for the baker.." she replys softly.

"Nay," Ostiel murmurs gently, white fingers reaching up and tenderly wiping away the tears, "You are found. Found, Galharth.
You are safe." The noise about them dims, the world narrows. "If you will permit me, I wish to visit with you, mellon nin.
Is that alright?"

"I see," nods the healer vaguely, eyes flicking under pale lashes to the wounded tailor and Ostiel. "Be well, elleth."

He motions to the attendants and apprentices. "Stay the bandages for a moment; leave Galharth to himself."

Does he hear? This can not be assured. His eyes slowly open, yet they do not seem to see. Wounds color his body, yet he
still seems pale and almost vacant. Clearly there is trama, but is it physical? Memories? Or threats of what might be? The
healers now must find their own way for the Tailor is now hidden in safety.

There is no visible response to Ostiel's inquiry, and for a long moment she hesitates, fingers trembling over the wounded
forehead. Yet, something within soothes, calms her own mind and fea, whispers encouragment that overtakes doubt with waves
of white mist. The healer presses both hands onto either side of Galharth's head, fingers tangling in his head, and lowers
her face to his. Their forehead meet..and Ostiel's fea stretches out, probing the outer territory of Galharth's core
existence. Her spirit brushes up against his, a flowing sea, blue and deep as the limits of time, smelling faintly of
rosebuds and white lavender. 'Galharth'.

In the phyiscal realm, Ostiel's breathing slows to match the Tailor's, her eyes flutter shut. The air about them seems to
still, as if aware of what is taking place.

"Thank you healer..." the young elleth replys softly, hands still clasping at the satchel strap around her.. Eyes darting
downward as the healer turns away, she looks upon the ground thoughtfully for a brief moment before once again looking into
the field hospital. Offering a polite nod to whomever is within, she turns quickly not waiting for a reply. After all,
nobody really ever pays any attention to her. Even after coming up with the stratagy for destroying the catapult. Does not
matter, hunting red fungus is good enough, its honourable important work. Shaking off a sullen expression and clearing her
mind Tauriel steps away. "FUUUNNNNNNGGGUUUUUSSSS!!!"

They have done what they may. Now the jars of medicine are closed and replaced in the chest; now bandages are securely tied
and left to do their work. Low humming dims to a whisper, and the white-haired healer turns thoughtfully to another patient.

The sun fades, the attendants fade, the healers fade. Lorien remains.

The young bare-footed elleth steps out of the area.. Singing brightly, one of her usually pointless tunes.


(Fade to black as RL interrupted RP)