Post by The Pilot on Sept 14, 2007 12:37:45 GMT -5
“Alright.” Narthas Randomië addressed the Autobots as they were halted there on the hill. “The three of you need to stay here. You need to stay in this area until one of us returns with more information and, hopefully, an idea of what needs to be done next.”
The giant robots nodded, but Hound knelt down to be more at eye level with the two fleshlings. “I’ve got one request, if you two don’t mind.”
“Shoot.”
“We really are gonna need to refuel soon here. Could you get your hands on some sort of energy for us? I understand that Mithril’s out of the question, but… fossil fuels, batteries; I can convert almost anything.”
The elf scratched his head, then looked up at the robot. “The only sort of fuels we’ve got here is wood and oil… so I’ll see what I can bum off Fen.”
“Ah, thank the Matrix. You’re a good man, Narthas. Now you two get over there and see what you can see.” Hound pointed away south at the Tower of Guard.
Lauren grinned, her face illuminated by the six glowing optic systems, and saluted up to the Autobot soldier. “Yes, sir!”
Narthas chuckled at her and saluted at Hound too. The two mounted their horses again, but the elf had one more word to share before they left the robots in the wilderness. “Try to stay within a half-mile radius of this. Be especially careful of that hill over there. That’s the Beacon of Amon Din, and it is manned. We’ll be back in a few days.”
With that Narthas and Lauren rode down the steep hill-face into the wide valley below. The waters of the River Anduin looked like a flat silver snake, slowly slithering through the land as it glistened under the moon. They found a rode nearby and followed the river south. As they rode, Lauren noted that they were passing farmland. Acres and acres of orchards and fields filled the valley, and little more than a simple wooden fence separated road from property. Off in the distance a dog barked.
“Look,” was all she heard from her companion beside her, and she looked off to their left in the direction that he pointed. About fifteen miles to the east, she saw the silhouette of a great city built on the river. Orange specks dotted the black mass; Osgiliath was inhabited! “They started right after the war was over,” Narthas continued. “I was called in to assess the plans and draw up new designs for the Reagent’s Palace and the Forum of Falastur, which they’re still working on.” He paused for a moment, which Lauren took to be a sigh that she couldn’t hear. “It’ll be another ten years before the city is even half rebuilt, though. It’s a shame that I don’t have many memories of it in it’s former glory.”
But soon, the river city was lost in the distance as mists began to rise from the water. Up ahead Lauren saw what they were looking out for, though. A great wall rose up from behind the wheat, hops, and barley fields: a dark strip against the sky. And behind it, Minas Tirith.
“My butt hurts,” Lauren said, adjusting herself in the saddle uncomfortably and giving a little wince.
“You mean that we’ve been traveling for weeks to get here, gone through all we’ve gone through, and all you have to say is that your butt hurts?” Lauren laughed at her friend. “Gods, you’re insufferable!”
“Hey you know what? I’m not used to sitting on my ass for days and days.”
Narthas laughed and dismissed the argument. “We’re almost to the Rammas.”
“Will the gates be open?” she asked, looking ahead and straining her eyes to see. Torches were lit on the high wall, but there was nothing to illuminate the sides.
“Aragorn has ordered for them to remain open always. So, no, we shouldn’t be hindered when we pass through.”
At the mention of that one man, Lauren was reminded of things from Narthas’ past. His friendship with Denethor’s family, and all such related drama and chaos. They slowed down as they neared the great arched gate, open and ready to receive them.
“Wait, you hate Aragorn, right?” She wanted to make sure it was something that was actually true, and not some facet of his psychology that she had completely fabricated.
The elf nodded. “That I do. But let’s not talk about it.”
They passed through the north-gate and rode on into the Pelennor Fields. It seemed to her now that the plots of land in this ten-mile wide encirclement were smaller than those outside, and it seemed to be an entire neighborhood of it’s own. In between the compact vineyards and hops farms, there were wineries and distilleries to go along with them. Dotting the side of the road Lauren saw several storefronts for carpenters or glassblowers. There was even an inn several miles later, small, and probably with few patrons. But when the girl looked up again from the road in front of them, she saw the enormous shadow of Mindolluin against the starry sky, and at its base she could vaguely make out the seven tiers of the White City.
“MINAS TIRITH,” she squeaked and closed her eyes tightly. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”
Narthas laughed at her. “Yep. I’ve been here countless times and I still can’t get over how beautiful it is.”
She didn’t really have any words to say about what she was thinking, so Lauren dug her heels into Miril’s sides and the horse broke into a swift gallop.
“Hey!” she heard from behind. “Wait up!”
Fëarin seemed to be a faster horse than Miril, because Narthas caught up very quickly. His cloak billowed behind him like dark blue smoke, he was leaning forward considerably with the reigns tight in his hands, and his face was set with a mirthful determination. At that moment, Lauren had to admit that he looked pretty epic.
They reached the massive front gate soon after that. Despite the country being in peace-time, the wall was crawling with guards and soldiers. The entire scenario was so incredibly overwhelming, though, that she had to stop and gaze at the façade, blazing grey and orange in the finicky light of fires and torches. She turned her eyes upon every square inch of it and, damn her, compared it to Peter Jackson’s interpretation. The styles were incredibly similar, yes, but Jackson’s Minas Tirith lacked the richness of age and awe that model-makers on a movie set could never replicate.
“I see that you are a stranger to this city, milady?” Her trance was broken by the weathered, but kind voice of a guard standing next to her. He was outfitted in masterfully crafted plate armor, decorated with stars and the wings of birds. A scar along his jaw line told her that he’d seen battle, but his eyes didn’t betray any such memories of bloodshed. His hair was black and straight, just like way descendants of Númenor were supposed to be instead of those pale-headed actors portraying the sons of the Steward. (She actually shouldn’t have complained, because David Wenham and Sean Bean were two of her favorite people in the entire movie. But I digress.)
“Yeah I’ve never… I mean, aye, I’ve not been here before.” Stupid, stupid, stupid! She was going to blow her cover!
“I see,” he said, looking at the wall and gate with her for a moment. “If that is true, may I ask from what land do you hail?”
“Oh! I am from Dol Amroth,” she lied, pointing to Narthas who was waiting patiently ahead. “And that is my uncle. He is here for business, but let me accompany him for I have never seen this place.”
“Welcome!” he said, smiling up at her. He gestured at the open front gate before them with the long spear in his hand. “To the City of Kings. May your stay here be nothing short of the finest.” With that he bowed to her and resumed his station beside the gate, and Lauren trotted through to Narthas’ side.
“Making friends already, I see?” he murmured to her.
“Is everyone here that nice?” she whispered.
“Most of them are, but a lot of them aren’t. I think the soldiers are nicest because they’re just glad the war’s over.”
She laughed. “That makes sense.”
“All right,” the elf said at normal volume. “Over yonder lies the old Guesthouse. I should like for you to secure us lodgment and await my return; I must go seek counsel with my friend ere night falls too heavily.” He gave her a wink.
“Ah! Yes milord; but please, be hasty about it for the hour is late.”
“I shall try.” He nodded and rode off in the opposite direction that she was supposed to go.
“Lampwright’s Street,” she read to herself. The sign stood in the middle of a near-empty square and pointed away east. She remembered this street! And this is where Pippin met Bergil, the son of Beregond. She was finally back on the trail of the Fellowship.
The echo of Miril’s hooves on the stone pavers seemed a bit too loud for her comfort, and despite there not being anything she could do about it, the girl dismounted and walked alongside her horse anyways. Lauren still couldn’t believe that she was in Minas Tirith. She had to admit that for a while there, her brain had almost completely forgotten that she was in Middle-earth at all. After all, wilderness was not something exclusive to Arda. But seeing this city with her own eyes was truly a smack in the face. This was where she was going to spend the rest of eternity because she was a Tolkien fanatic.
And she’d enjoy every last bit of it.
“Kay, I’m gonna leave you here now,” she said as she stepped up to the Guesthouse. It was a fairly large building, built of stone, bricks, and wood. There didn’t seem to be a stables in the immediate vicinity, but there were tie-offs for the reigns out front. Lauren loosely wrapped the leather straps around the wooden beam and instructed the steed to stay put again, before stepping up to the door, taking a deep breath, and opening it.
The interior resembled that of the Spear and Saddle back in Edoras, except it was larger. Despite the heat, one of the two hearths was ablaze. The pungent atmosphere was thick with drunken voices, raucous (but good natured) laughter, and loud, stumbling stories. The tavern was filled with men, old and young, and the women serving them were the very embodiment renaissance faire wenches.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“Hm?” Lauren blinked and turned to the voice. She realized the innkeeper was addressing her. “Oh! Hello. I’d like to get a room for… just one night, please. Oh, and with two beds.”
“Two, eh? Alright. That’ll be two silver bits then, miss.”
Crap. “I, uh… My uncle has… is charged with my funds. He will be joining me later tonight. I promise that he will pay our bill ass soon as he arrives.”
“Ah…” The innkeeper rubbed his short, scruffy beard and looked at her with aged eyes. “May I ask the name of your uncle?”
“Narthas, sir.”
“Narthas! I could never forget such a character,” he chuckled. “Sure, sure. He is a trustworthy man by my book. Strange though, that he never mentioned any brothers or sisters of his around here.”
“Ah, yes, well… he is very kind to have taken me in after the war.”
“What’s that you say?” he asked, then a shock came over him, and he was suddenly sobered. “Oh! I am truly sorry for your loss, my dear. Yes… there are many little ones that lost much of their family also.” He nodded gravely.
“Yes, well… let us not dwell on it.” Lauren said. She didn’t want to have to pull any more lies out on the spot, because she might start contradicting herself… or saying things that contradicted what this guy knew about Narthas already. That would be bad. “But about that room?”
“Oh! Yes, of course. If you would follow me.” The old innkeeper stepped out from behind the bar and beckoned her to follow him across the tavern to some stairs in the corner next to the hearth, and up they went to the second level. “Lavatory is at the end of the hall,” he said, pointing in a direction that she didn’t pay attention to. “And here is your room.” He turned the knob on a door marked 103, and opened up to a relatively spacious room with a window at the far end. A single candle burned on a bedside table that was nestled between two plush beds. “My name is Denlam. If there is anything that you need, don’t be afraid to ask.”
Lauren smiled warmly at him. “Thank you, Denlan.”
He left and closed the door behind him, leaving Lauren to herself in the near-dark room. The first thing she did was cross the wooden floor and fling open the windows to let some fresh air in, even though it was just as warm as the air already inside the room. Lauren went and claimed a bed, sitting on it and staring at the ceiling. She heard footsteps above her head, letting her know there was a third story to the inn. Her thoughts began to drift as she reclined on the bed, and the girl started to wonder about this Alt Fen character that Narthas was supposed to be meeting with.
How did he find Middle-earth to begin with? How did he manage to blend in enough to remain inconspicuous, despite being from Coruscant, for so many years? How did he get to and from Middle-earth without being discovered? Spacecraft weren’t invisible or noiseless things. But then she began to wonder how exactly he met Narthas. Was it a chance meeting? Were they introduced through another fan? If so, who was this other fan? So many questions that suddenly popped up now that she had the chance to seriously think about it. But after a few minutes, her brain began to go in circles and so she gave up trying to puzzle out the situation and instead focused on her stomach.
Lauren idly unwrapped the fresh bandage around her waist and poked at the skin underneath. The wound, now that it was closed up, seemed to be less of a deal than it was. The seam that the sutures held together was maybe nine or ten inches from one end to the other, creating an almost straight line from the base of her ribs on the left side, to the hip bone on her right side. It looked eerily clean, with no traces of blood at all. She knew he must’ve wiped up the blood when he was done, but… there was none. A sudden and very macabre thought crossed her mind; Lauren found herself wondering what doctors would find if she let someone do an autopsy on her. But that was neither there nor here.
She wasn’t quite sure when exactly she had fallen asleep but she was woken from her light slumber by rustling in the room. The candle had long since gone out, but at least Narthas was back. She saw his blotchy dark figure in the blackness, setting a large sack of something down, clanking as it hit the floor.
“What time is it?” she gurgled.
“A little past midnight.”
“Did you pay the bill?”
“No, Denlan was asleep. I’ll get to it in the morning.”
She heard his boots thud on the floor, and his cloak was flung onto a chair. There was the rustling of bed sheets, then silence, then a sigh.
“How did it go?” She asked to the ceiling.
He grumbled into the pillow. “It’s getting more complicated than we thought.” Her heart began to race. “But I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.” The elf yawned, rustled a bit more, then fell fast asleep.
Augh! He just had to be such a tease. Lauren huffed and flopped back down into bed, turning her back to him, and fell asleep maybe an hour later.
The giant robots nodded, but Hound knelt down to be more at eye level with the two fleshlings. “I’ve got one request, if you two don’t mind.”
“Shoot.”
“We really are gonna need to refuel soon here. Could you get your hands on some sort of energy for us? I understand that Mithril’s out of the question, but… fossil fuels, batteries; I can convert almost anything.”
The elf scratched his head, then looked up at the robot. “The only sort of fuels we’ve got here is wood and oil… so I’ll see what I can bum off Fen.”
“Ah, thank the Matrix. You’re a good man, Narthas. Now you two get over there and see what you can see.” Hound pointed away south at the Tower of Guard.
Lauren grinned, her face illuminated by the six glowing optic systems, and saluted up to the Autobot soldier. “Yes, sir!”
Narthas chuckled at her and saluted at Hound too. The two mounted their horses again, but the elf had one more word to share before they left the robots in the wilderness. “Try to stay within a half-mile radius of this. Be especially careful of that hill over there. That’s the Beacon of Amon Din, and it is manned. We’ll be back in a few days.”
With that Narthas and Lauren rode down the steep hill-face into the wide valley below. The waters of the River Anduin looked like a flat silver snake, slowly slithering through the land as it glistened under the moon. They found a rode nearby and followed the river south. As they rode, Lauren noted that they were passing farmland. Acres and acres of orchards and fields filled the valley, and little more than a simple wooden fence separated road from property. Off in the distance a dog barked.
“Look,” was all she heard from her companion beside her, and she looked off to their left in the direction that he pointed. About fifteen miles to the east, she saw the silhouette of a great city built on the river. Orange specks dotted the black mass; Osgiliath was inhabited! “They started right after the war was over,” Narthas continued. “I was called in to assess the plans and draw up new designs for the Reagent’s Palace and the Forum of Falastur, which they’re still working on.” He paused for a moment, which Lauren took to be a sigh that she couldn’t hear. “It’ll be another ten years before the city is even half rebuilt, though. It’s a shame that I don’t have many memories of it in it’s former glory.”
But soon, the river city was lost in the distance as mists began to rise from the water. Up ahead Lauren saw what they were looking out for, though. A great wall rose up from behind the wheat, hops, and barley fields: a dark strip against the sky. And behind it, Minas Tirith.
“My butt hurts,” Lauren said, adjusting herself in the saddle uncomfortably and giving a little wince.
“You mean that we’ve been traveling for weeks to get here, gone through all we’ve gone through, and all you have to say is that your butt hurts?” Lauren laughed at her friend. “Gods, you’re insufferable!”
“Hey you know what? I’m not used to sitting on my ass for days and days.”
Narthas laughed and dismissed the argument. “We’re almost to the Rammas.”
“Will the gates be open?” she asked, looking ahead and straining her eyes to see. Torches were lit on the high wall, but there was nothing to illuminate the sides.
“Aragorn has ordered for them to remain open always. So, no, we shouldn’t be hindered when we pass through.”
At the mention of that one man, Lauren was reminded of things from Narthas’ past. His friendship with Denethor’s family, and all such related drama and chaos. They slowed down as they neared the great arched gate, open and ready to receive them.
“Wait, you hate Aragorn, right?” She wanted to make sure it was something that was actually true, and not some facet of his psychology that she had completely fabricated.
The elf nodded. “That I do. But let’s not talk about it.”
They passed through the north-gate and rode on into the Pelennor Fields. It seemed to her now that the plots of land in this ten-mile wide encirclement were smaller than those outside, and it seemed to be an entire neighborhood of it’s own. In between the compact vineyards and hops farms, there were wineries and distilleries to go along with them. Dotting the side of the road Lauren saw several storefronts for carpenters or glassblowers. There was even an inn several miles later, small, and probably with few patrons. But when the girl looked up again from the road in front of them, she saw the enormous shadow of Mindolluin against the starry sky, and at its base she could vaguely make out the seven tiers of the White City.
“MINAS TIRITH,” she squeaked and closed her eyes tightly. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”
Narthas laughed at her. “Yep. I’ve been here countless times and I still can’t get over how beautiful it is.”
She didn’t really have any words to say about what she was thinking, so Lauren dug her heels into Miril’s sides and the horse broke into a swift gallop.
“Hey!” she heard from behind. “Wait up!”
Fëarin seemed to be a faster horse than Miril, because Narthas caught up very quickly. His cloak billowed behind him like dark blue smoke, he was leaning forward considerably with the reigns tight in his hands, and his face was set with a mirthful determination. At that moment, Lauren had to admit that he looked pretty epic.
They reached the massive front gate soon after that. Despite the country being in peace-time, the wall was crawling with guards and soldiers. The entire scenario was so incredibly overwhelming, though, that she had to stop and gaze at the façade, blazing grey and orange in the finicky light of fires and torches. She turned her eyes upon every square inch of it and, damn her, compared it to Peter Jackson’s interpretation. The styles were incredibly similar, yes, but Jackson’s Minas Tirith lacked the richness of age and awe that model-makers on a movie set could never replicate.
“I see that you are a stranger to this city, milady?” Her trance was broken by the weathered, but kind voice of a guard standing next to her. He was outfitted in masterfully crafted plate armor, decorated with stars and the wings of birds. A scar along his jaw line told her that he’d seen battle, but his eyes didn’t betray any such memories of bloodshed. His hair was black and straight, just like way descendants of Númenor were supposed to be instead of those pale-headed actors portraying the sons of the Steward. (She actually shouldn’t have complained, because David Wenham and Sean Bean were two of her favorite people in the entire movie. But I digress.)
“Yeah I’ve never… I mean, aye, I’ve not been here before.” Stupid, stupid, stupid! She was going to blow her cover!
“I see,” he said, looking at the wall and gate with her for a moment. “If that is true, may I ask from what land do you hail?”
“Oh! I am from Dol Amroth,” she lied, pointing to Narthas who was waiting patiently ahead. “And that is my uncle. He is here for business, but let me accompany him for I have never seen this place.”
“Welcome!” he said, smiling up at her. He gestured at the open front gate before them with the long spear in his hand. “To the City of Kings. May your stay here be nothing short of the finest.” With that he bowed to her and resumed his station beside the gate, and Lauren trotted through to Narthas’ side.
“Making friends already, I see?” he murmured to her.
“Is everyone here that nice?” she whispered.
“Most of them are, but a lot of them aren’t. I think the soldiers are nicest because they’re just glad the war’s over.”
She laughed. “That makes sense.”
“All right,” the elf said at normal volume. “Over yonder lies the old Guesthouse. I should like for you to secure us lodgment and await my return; I must go seek counsel with my friend ere night falls too heavily.” He gave her a wink.
“Ah! Yes milord; but please, be hasty about it for the hour is late.”
“I shall try.” He nodded and rode off in the opposite direction that she was supposed to go.
“Lampwright’s Street,” she read to herself. The sign stood in the middle of a near-empty square and pointed away east. She remembered this street! And this is where Pippin met Bergil, the son of Beregond. She was finally back on the trail of the Fellowship.
The echo of Miril’s hooves on the stone pavers seemed a bit too loud for her comfort, and despite there not being anything she could do about it, the girl dismounted and walked alongside her horse anyways. Lauren still couldn’t believe that she was in Minas Tirith. She had to admit that for a while there, her brain had almost completely forgotten that she was in Middle-earth at all. After all, wilderness was not something exclusive to Arda. But seeing this city with her own eyes was truly a smack in the face. This was where she was going to spend the rest of eternity because she was a Tolkien fanatic.
And she’d enjoy every last bit of it.
“Kay, I’m gonna leave you here now,” she said as she stepped up to the Guesthouse. It was a fairly large building, built of stone, bricks, and wood. There didn’t seem to be a stables in the immediate vicinity, but there were tie-offs for the reigns out front. Lauren loosely wrapped the leather straps around the wooden beam and instructed the steed to stay put again, before stepping up to the door, taking a deep breath, and opening it.
The interior resembled that of the Spear and Saddle back in Edoras, except it was larger. Despite the heat, one of the two hearths was ablaze. The pungent atmosphere was thick with drunken voices, raucous (but good natured) laughter, and loud, stumbling stories. The tavern was filled with men, old and young, and the women serving them were the very embodiment renaissance faire wenches.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“Hm?” Lauren blinked and turned to the voice. She realized the innkeeper was addressing her. “Oh! Hello. I’d like to get a room for… just one night, please. Oh, and with two beds.”
“Two, eh? Alright. That’ll be two silver bits then, miss.”
Crap. “I, uh… My uncle has… is charged with my funds. He will be joining me later tonight. I promise that he will pay our bill ass soon as he arrives.”
“Ah…” The innkeeper rubbed his short, scruffy beard and looked at her with aged eyes. “May I ask the name of your uncle?”
“Narthas, sir.”
“Narthas! I could never forget such a character,” he chuckled. “Sure, sure. He is a trustworthy man by my book. Strange though, that he never mentioned any brothers or sisters of his around here.”
“Ah, yes, well… he is very kind to have taken me in after the war.”
“What’s that you say?” he asked, then a shock came over him, and he was suddenly sobered. “Oh! I am truly sorry for your loss, my dear. Yes… there are many little ones that lost much of their family also.” He nodded gravely.
“Yes, well… let us not dwell on it.” Lauren said. She didn’t want to have to pull any more lies out on the spot, because she might start contradicting herself… or saying things that contradicted what this guy knew about Narthas already. That would be bad. “But about that room?”
“Oh! Yes, of course. If you would follow me.” The old innkeeper stepped out from behind the bar and beckoned her to follow him across the tavern to some stairs in the corner next to the hearth, and up they went to the second level. “Lavatory is at the end of the hall,” he said, pointing in a direction that she didn’t pay attention to. “And here is your room.” He turned the knob on a door marked 103, and opened up to a relatively spacious room with a window at the far end. A single candle burned on a bedside table that was nestled between two plush beds. “My name is Denlam. If there is anything that you need, don’t be afraid to ask.”
Lauren smiled warmly at him. “Thank you, Denlan.”
He left and closed the door behind him, leaving Lauren to herself in the near-dark room. The first thing she did was cross the wooden floor and fling open the windows to let some fresh air in, even though it was just as warm as the air already inside the room. Lauren went and claimed a bed, sitting on it and staring at the ceiling. She heard footsteps above her head, letting her know there was a third story to the inn. Her thoughts began to drift as she reclined on the bed, and the girl started to wonder about this Alt Fen character that Narthas was supposed to be meeting with.
How did he find Middle-earth to begin with? How did he manage to blend in enough to remain inconspicuous, despite being from Coruscant, for so many years? How did he get to and from Middle-earth without being discovered? Spacecraft weren’t invisible or noiseless things. But then she began to wonder how exactly he met Narthas. Was it a chance meeting? Were they introduced through another fan? If so, who was this other fan? So many questions that suddenly popped up now that she had the chance to seriously think about it. But after a few minutes, her brain began to go in circles and so she gave up trying to puzzle out the situation and instead focused on her stomach.
Lauren idly unwrapped the fresh bandage around her waist and poked at the skin underneath. The wound, now that it was closed up, seemed to be less of a deal than it was. The seam that the sutures held together was maybe nine or ten inches from one end to the other, creating an almost straight line from the base of her ribs on the left side, to the hip bone on her right side. It looked eerily clean, with no traces of blood at all. She knew he must’ve wiped up the blood when he was done, but… there was none. A sudden and very macabre thought crossed her mind; Lauren found herself wondering what doctors would find if she let someone do an autopsy on her. But that was neither there nor here.
She wasn’t quite sure when exactly she had fallen asleep but she was woken from her light slumber by rustling in the room. The candle had long since gone out, but at least Narthas was back. She saw his blotchy dark figure in the blackness, setting a large sack of something down, clanking as it hit the floor.
“What time is it?” she gurgled.
“A little past midnight.”
“Did you pay the bill?”
“No, Denlan was asleep. I’ll get to it in the morning.”
She heard his boots thud on the floor, and his cloak was flung onto a chair. There was the rustling of bed sheets, then silence, then a sigh.
“How did it go?” She asked to the ceiling.
He grumbled into the pillow. “It’s getting more complicated than we thought.” Her heart began to race. “But I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.” The elf yawned, rustled a bit more, then fell fast asleep.
Augh! He just had to be such a tease. Lauren huffed and flopped back down into bed, turning her back to him, and fell asleep maybe an hour later.
