Compos Mentis [Rávamë's Bane: Book 2]

Part I : Chapter 2 ~ Hunger Pangs

I woke from the dream to the sound of laboured breaths, heavy footfalls on hard ground, and the feeling of my cheek thumping gently against something solid but warm.

That, and my stomach was apparently trying to claw its way out through my mouth. It twisted and writhed, needles of pain pulsing up through my torso to my head from my belly, and it was only when I was conscious enough to string a thought together that I realised why:

I was starving.

A soft groan escaped up my throat before I could think, and the footsteps and movement halted almost instantly. I tried to move, to figure out where I was and whose back my face was pressed against, but all my senses were dulled, and my arms and legs felt like lead. Low evening sunlight was all but blinding me, and my neck ached every time I tried to move my head.

"Eleanor?" someone familiar said my name.

"H-hungry..." I rasped out after a moment of trying, my voice a croaky imitation of its normal sound. My throat felt like someone had taken a cheese grater to it.

More voices, two of them this time, more footfalls, and then suddenly I was being set down with my back leaning against the cool stone of a wind-smoothed boulder. The shade of the rock momentarily got the dimming sun out of my sticky eyes, and for a moment all I could see was dried grass, rocks and miles of deep blue, pale indigo and bright orange in the evening sky.

Someone familiar, though still faintly blurry, came into my view. He was tall, rugged, with dark hair, grey eyes, and the imposing posture of one who spent most of his time roaming the wilderness and liked it that way. He was crouched in front of me, his weapon-roughened hand gently gripping my shoulder, keeping me propped upright against the stone so I didn't tip over.

But far more important that any of that; he was holding half a loaf of lambas bread about three inches from my nose.

The smell of the food hit me like a punch to the gut, and I all but ripped the loaf from Aragorn's hand, biting into it with no elegance or dignity at all. My stomach moaned in euphoric relief, and the next thing I knew the measly little piece of elvish bread was gone in less than three bites. I'd barely stopped chewing before I was frantically reaching for the other half, my insides howling for more immediately, but Aragorn took a gentle, yet firm, hold of my wrist.

"Slow down. You'll choke yourself," his gravely voice commanded quietly, handing me a skin of water instead. I took it a little more carefully in hands that I now realised were shaking badly with fatigue, and drained half of it in a few long gulps before I could force myself to stop and breathe again. By the time I'd wolfed down my third loaf, the writhing in my belly hadn't ceased, but it had dulled just enough for me to remember how to think straight.

I ate my fourth one much slower, forcing myself to take smaller bites, knowing that if I didn't, I'd just end up throwing it all back up again.

"H-how... how long..." I managed to get out between bites, chews, and gulps for air.

"A day and a half," Aragorn answered, understanding what I was asking without me needing to even finish.

A day and a half? I'd been completely dead to the world for an entire day and a half? A cold shiver ran through my spine at the thought. Just how close had I come to draining myself entire during that antacuilë? I didn't want to think about it.

"... Where a-are we?"

"The western bank of the Onodlo river. We passed into Rohan this morning."