One moment it was dark, the other he could see hordes of undead walking towards him. It was shocking, but there was no time to lose. Like an old habbit, Elendirill started to focus on the flame. This was a trick he learned from a man long long ago. The man seemed kind of strange, and he was carrying a boy he had found somewhere in the mountains. That seemed ages ago, and the man is probably dead by now. But back then they walked together for awhile, and although Elendirill didn't like humans at all, this one became his friend. The practised the sword fighting together, and in the end the man told him the secret which made Elendirill lose every fight.
The man told him about the inner flame, it was hard to notice, but once one could hold it, it became a source of power. It resembled the way the elven elders reached for their magick, but this flame didn't use magick at all, it was a source for concentration. Once you can hold the flame, you have to feed it with all your emotions, untill you are empty.
Elendirill threw in his sadness first and at the same time the hate he felt for the kidnapper. It felt kind of weird, it was like both of them had become a part of him. He felt like he lost something, but on the other hand he felt free after a long time of slavery. Then he threw in his tiredness, there was no time to be tired in a fight like this. Now Elendirill was empty, he could still see them coming at him, but his only thoughts were with his sword.
He saw Mari stading still a bit behind him, so he jumped between her and the undead. If there was anything he hated more than dragons, it were the undead. They were not just abominations of nature, they were against it. Elendirill stared at the ground when the first corpses attacked him, a quick step sidewards while turning around and he let the sword do its work. The first two undead had lost their heads. Elendirill didn't stop but continued his dance with the undead, empty inside ...
