• Bren lied on the ground, blood seeping from the terrible wound. His sword was belted on his side, and his bow was limp in his right hand. A quiver of arrows was under him. He had sustained a very bad wound on the chest, from a sword blade. His breath grew shallower, and shallower, when I young boy, no older than six ran up to him. "Bren! Bren! You're still alive!" he said, running up to the seventeen year old he saw as his older bother. He kneeled down next to Bren, looking him over. "You're bleeding."

    Bren looked at the boy. "Enslar... you're here. What happened to the village? Did we win? Is Tira safe?" Worry was in his face, though he didn't really care what happened to him. He knew he was dead. "Please, tell me! I can't die without knowing!"

    Enslar looked at Bren, innocently. For he had never seen death before, and he couldn't believe what Bren was saying. "Well, yes, she's alright, and the village is fine... but Bren. Don't talk like that... you're not going to die..." He looked at Bren, scared now.

    Bren looked at him sadly. "Enslar... listen to me. I'm not going to last much longer." he looked at his chest. "I need you... to listen to me..." His breathing got weaker, though he was still speaking. "I need you-"

    But Enslar wouldn't listen, tears falling from his eyes. "Bren, you're not going to die! I'll get Glarital... and Haeldir... they'll take you back to the village. You'll get all better, like this never happened to you!"

    Bren sighed, and looked at the boy. He was so young, so naive, and Bren, for half a second, envied the boy. "I'm never going to be better." he said. Taking his hand to his quiver, he took out an arrow, fletched with an eagle's feather. "Do you know how I got this?" he asked. At Enslar's nod, Bren smiled. "Tell me how I got it." he said.

    Enslar repeated the story he'd heard Bren tell him so many times before. "You were in the mountains, hunting, and got lost. You..." he stammered. "You thought you were going to die, but an eagle guided you back to the village. It dropped a feather as it flew away, and you fletched an arrow with the feather." Tears were now flowing from his eyes.

    Bren smiled. "I want you to have it." he said, "It's given me good luck. But I don't need it anymore. My luck's ran out." He held out his hand, the long arrow held in it.

    Enslar looked at it, horrified. "Bren, you can't! Your not going to..."

    But Bren just smiled. "Take my bow and sword back... tell everyone that they did great." he closed his eyes. "Tell Tira... that I love her." he breathed his last breath, and died.

    Tears flowed from Enslar's eyes. He took the arrow, and then unstrapped Bren's sword and quiver. He picked up the bow, and headed back towards Halvartin. He told everyone of Bren's death, he told everyone of what had happened on that desolate battlefield...