It was Anarion, and he looked as if he had never been harmed. I could see the rent in his armour where Zabrac's blade had struck him, and though flesh...was visible beneath, it was unblemished.He took no notice of my arrival and instead stared dumbly to the east and the rising sun while he cradled the remains of his beloved mentor in his lap.I stood and watched him for a moment, unsure if what I saw was indeed flesh or a spirit from the heavens giving farewell. He seemed different, as if he. 'Fucking, cunting, slippery bollocky socks!'I assumed it was her talking, and not the socks. I stopped near her, admired her outfit: T-shirt and knickers, the knickers drawn tight up on her, displaying a crease where the crack of her sweet ass was. I bent down and smacked it playfully.She stopped her searching and cursing to smack my shin, not at all playfully. 'Stay out of my way, fucker!'I understood her reaction. Saturday morning was no day of rest for us; she had work at home to do, of. More

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