Arida groaned weakly, her head swimming in a mire of pain and fatigue, her arm strained around the shoulders of a broad figure that held onto her, her feet limp as she was dragged, wet mud clinging to her feet as they trailed through the filth together, her tracks a single line beside the footprints of her companion.
Her mind was pained and on the edge of consciousness as she vainly tried to order her thought, coming slowly to. There had been a battle, she remembered, a brutal conflict between Elf and Orc, one that, she thought, they had been winning. She had been in the fray, in the thick of it, encouraging her lessers around her, a beacon of Elven beauty and ferocity, then one of her Sargents had let out a cry of fear, Arida had turned, and her world had gone black.
Weakly she tried to
