A distraught mother, a horse’s reigns in one hand, her youngest daughter in the other pulled hastily towards a boy, no more than 12 summers has he seen. Her clothing was disheveled, her right cheek is smudged with dirt.

“GO, now my son!” sombrely, the boy took one last look at his mother, held the reigns, and rode hard.

Run, run like the wind,
though it brings dark tidings,
there is war in its makings,
run fast as if flying with wings!

Nay, don’t look back!
your fear will stall you,
heed my words, ’tis the fact
or to your death you will rue

Children, if I should fall,
run, run, and be safe!
Bring word to the king’s hall
to break the curse of the knave

flight in the darkened night
on a steed meant not for this
yet another fire still burns bright!
hope! have courage, for it still exists

My beloved son, dearest daughter,
if we meet not, know you this,
I have spared you from this slaughter
even though my heart rends at grave risks

flee now, where there is love
to a future of uncertainties
live for now, housed to a cove
where honors bound with probabilities

“Mama, mama!” oh, dearest child,
I leave you now in Eru’s grace,
as I realize dead bodies pile,
this fate is spared from you to face

Shrieks, screams and cries of death,
roars of threats to be fulfilled,
menace by wildmen, weapons wreathe
I surrender my children to Eru’s will.

From afar, the boy and his sister, of which he reasoned was safe enough for a brief look, stole a look at what was his home. The whole village was either burning or smoking, there were splotches of bodies in various stages of their failed attempts to flee. Some made their last stand, stalling the wildmen for precious time that enables the helpless to make good distance and speed, leaving the devastation of the village that is no more.

Then, the boy tugged the horse’s reigns, chose his bearings, and didn’t look back.