Outracing the Flames RPG

[Eowyn Skywalker]

It was a shock that she had been briefly addressed; enough of one that Eostre didn't have the time to think up a sane reply before Fion had been called back by another person—another excuse, of course, for no one to speak to her. But, then, why should they care to talk to her? She was nothing more than a seemingly irritable nag, an alien to the theory of just letting loose.

Perhaps they were simply afraid of her.

Exhaling, she stood up and abandoned the nearby area, leaving the reach of the fire in search of something quieter to do. If no one would talk with her, she thought she may as well bore herself to tears.

But she was startled out of her misery by a horse, stomping about as if it were a dog. Her eyes widened a bit, examining this scene with a silent and almost critical eye; it was so outragous in the midst of this calamity that it was almost laughable! Of course she couldn't bring herself to laugh, though, but it was still strangely amusing, some foreign occurance in chaos.

[Tevildo]

Dorran

Dorran stared helplessly as Athwen retreated and went over to sit near Fion. What a terrible fool he had been! The young woman had come over asking if there was some way that she could help, but behind her simple words had been a hundred questions left unsaid. She had wanted a bit of kindness, and all he could do was stumble over his words and gawk. While sometimes it was hard for him to talk with a lass, there had been more going on than that.

He wished he could have spoken to her the way he did with his own sister---in an easy, familiar way that showed kindness and respect. Still, it hadn't only been the presence of a young girl that had so rattled him and thrown him off track. The plain fact was that the Orc attack on the village had totally unnerved him. There were too many bleak memories still in his mind. Wherever Athwen walked, the ghosts of the village seemed to tred quietly in her path. And those ghosts were too much like things that Dorran had already heard and seen. Still, that was no excuse for rude behavior.

He managed to mumble his thanks to Sythric for his offer of help in cooking. Then, thinking of the only thing he could do to make some amends, he grabbed two wooden trenchers from the supply sack, piled these high with fish and added a few nutty sweets to the side of the plate, the last treats that he had from those his sister had put in his pack. Running over to where Fion and Athwen were seated, he impulsively reached out and shoved his offerings towards them, mumbling out an apology. "I must ask pardon from both of you. Fion, if truth be told, it's because of me that you bear a fearsome lump on your head and are feeling so poorly. When they spoke of men coming after the Orc raid, all I could think about were the Easterlings who descended on our own village and dragged all the survivors off to slavery. I'm really, really sorry. I made a fearful mistake. You're certainly no Easterling. And lady Athwen, forgive my rudeness. It's true I have nothing for you to do right now. But with all these newcomers in camp, I would truly appreciate some help in preparing things in the morning before we set out on the trail. Perhaps, you'd like to help then and we could talk a bit."

Dorran stared down at the ground and shook his head, "It's hard. I know. You see, the same thing happened in my own village when I was a little child. It was a horrible day. Just horrible. My parents survived but my older brother was....." He stopped and backed awkwardly away, reluctant to say more. "Anyways, here's the food, and I hope you're both feeling better soon."

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Leod

Leod turned towards Sythric and sighed, "I am sorry. I've said nothing to answer the question you posed to me, as to the health of Fion. If truth be told, I am siting here and wondering the same thing myself. He looks to be in amazingly good shape for one who has gone through what happened this afternoon. And yet, I wonder......"

Leod's voice drifted off before he began speaking again, "Sometimes there are wounds inside, ones that can't be seen to a healer. I just don't know if that is the case. The wound on the head is still nasty. Plus he has lost blood and is weaker than I would like to see, for one about to set out on a long journey. If the trip is light and easy, I don't imagine your friend will have any trouble. But if we must ride hard, if there are new blows or wounds, then, truthfully, I am not sure what might happen. Perhaps it would be best if he could journey more slowly and not try anything so ill advised as a madcap rush for Edoras. But, then, I am not a member of your party, and it is not I that must decide this...."

[Nogrod]

“... But, then, I am not a member of your party, and it is not I that must decide this....", Leod turned to look at Sythric. Is he waiting for me to agree on this? He’s right in a way, and then not: we are in this mess all of us, together.

“I thank you for your being quite outspoken, considering Fion, but I still think I have to disagree with you.” Sythric looked at Leod firmly, but also respectingly. He had learned to honour the elders, and he sure did, but now he really had to disagree. “I guess, we have lots of decisions, possibly some grave ones to make, all of us. I don’t think we can any more talk of us as separate parties. We are Rohanians in trouble, again all of us. I can’t see any outsiders here any more. The land is insecure, and there are a host of messages to the King waiting for delivery – messages, that seem to be gaining in importance day after day. Wulfham and Bregoware are abandoned, as is Aernanaes. Scyffold is burnt down... We have to think about these things as one now, as Rohanians with a common end: how to balance between the effectiveness of our delivery and the safety of all of us individually?” He paused for a while, checking Leod’s reactions. He seemed not to disagree, at least not outright, as his expressions revealed not a thought behind them.

“But that’s something we should discuss together, all of us, with a roast deer to go with it... Which kind of reminds me of...”, he looked to his left where Dorran and Athwen were sitting besides Fion and talking something. He turned his face back to Leod. “It seems, that our master chef has more important things at hand just now?”, with that he winked an eye to Leod and smiled jokingly. “Maybe we should continue preparing this deer, so that we would all have a good dinner before it gets dark?” Leod nodded in agreement. They rose up and took themselves to where Dorran had left the half-carved deer. Together they were pretty fast with it, both knowing the trade well enough. The deer was skinned in just a moment.

“I have some seasoning at my packages, and I could also go and make us a spit of sorts, if you would wash the blood from the deer and see to the fire so that it burns nicely? I quess we should roast this at that bigger fire where Fion and others are, as this has been used to smoking, and would take quite a time to generate enough heat? I could then take care of the internal organs – if Dorran won’t be rushing to it before I have a chance.” As Leod agreed to this division of labour, Sythric took to the nearby trees, and noticed Eostre standing alone, just having fun by herself. Eostre, so you are alone again... How do we get you out from your private jail you’ve created?

It was only now, as Sythric walked towards Eostre, that he paid attention to Nay’s private show that clearly seemed to be the thing amusing her. It sure seemed funny – although Vaenosa seemed pretty frustrated with it. Has that girl ever trained her horse? How has she dared to take that kind of a horse to a mission like this? They both watched it a couple of moments silently, but then Sytric addressed Eostre. “Would you like to do something? Kind of joining us others? We would have to make a spit, needing two strong young trees with boughs at the top, about a yard long, and one two-yarder, thinner but thick and straight. Could you get them? I could then go and unpack all our horses for their comfort, and get the seasoning. Leod, the old man there, is preparing the deer to the bigger fire. Or we could change the jobs: I’ll get the spit and you’ll unpack the horses? My seasoning is in a small box, in the backbag at Thydrë’s left side.”

[Folwren]

Athwen looked from Dorran, slowly walking away, to the trencher he had put into her hands, and back again. Blinking in surprise, she then averted her gaze to Fion who simply shrugged and repositioned himself so that he could eat more comfortably. The food indeed looked excellent and Athwen was hungry, no mistake, but. . .

'Dorran, wait.' Her voice trembled slightly, but she couldn't help it and she wouldn't put it off. She put the plate down and scrambled quickly to her feet, pushing her skirt impatiently away from her ankles as she rose. He turned at her voice and she approached him and came to a stop right before him. He looked down at her, and she looked back at him. 'I know what you mean,' she said after a short pause of not knowing what to say at all. 'I don't blame you for not knowing what to say or do, I really don't.' She could have cursed the tears in her eyes. It was hard enough for the young man as it was without seeing them and hearing her voice quavering as though it were about to break. She broke the gaze and looked down.

'I wasn't. . .I wasn't offended at all when you said there wasn't anything to do,' she said. 'Honestly. I didn't want to cut up the deer and I don't know, even if I did want to help. But I would like to help with breakfast tomorrow.' She paused. That wasn't even the most important part of it all. She lifted her head again and looked at him. 'You've been through what I have, too?' she suddenly asked, unaware that her voice had dropped almost to a whisper.

'We'll talk later,' he said quietly. 'When there aren't as many people around and possibly listening.' He took a swift, cursory glance around him before looking back at Athwen.

'Alright,' she said, stepping back. 'So long as you're alright.' He nodded, and she was satisfied, and she turned away and went back to her seat by Fion. Sitting back down, she took up the trencher and set it on her lap. 'I've not eaten since morning,' she said, pealing some of the smoked fish from the bones. There was a slight pause while she was intent on her food. In a moment, however, she became aware that the silence between them was probably awkward, and now, becoming aware of it, she found that it was. 'Um. . .have you known your companions long, from your home?'

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Eowyn Skywalker's post


The request jerked her from the bemused and amused state Eostre had let herself sink into. She glanced over at Sythric; he seemed to be vaguely concerned about her, but she didn't have the heart to tell him she preferred being this way. Silence was safer, it didn't scream at you and assume things that didn't always ever make sense. Didn't assume you wanted this or that, or perhaps this and that and that while you were at it.

"I don't have an axe," she responded dutifully, perhaps a bit dully. "I can unpack our horses though, certainly."

They seperated then, Eostre going over to unpack the Bregowarian horses. They weren't overpacked, she noted with relief—though packed heavily enough she felt certain the creatures had to feel a strong sense of relief at being let to breathe again. She stacked the packs silently nearby the logs about the fire, rubbing the horse's backs a moment after relieving them of their burdans.

At Sythric's horse, she paused a moment, digging the spices from the pack before finishing the job. Having pocketed them, she was uncertain who to give them to... Leod, wasn't it? The older man.

Walking over to the larger fire where the deer was to be cooked, she sat down nearby, the spices in hand. Surely whoever required them would ask.

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Nogrod's post


Making the spit it is then, Sythric thought, and took himself to the sparse thicket, searching for suitable young trees. He found a fitting two-yarder quite easily. But getting the vertical ones weren’t as easy. In the end he found two small birches by the side of the river that had thick enough boughs in them.

Sythric hacked them down with his great uncle’s knife “I don’t have an axe”, he remembered Eostre’s words and smiled lightly. Then he sat down on to a large rock by the river and started to peel them. It was then that he realized, how blissful it was to be alone for a moment. Just doing something routine-like, not having to think anything in particular. He watched at the willows by the riverbank, their leaves and branches hissing softly in the wind. He remembered his father, teaching him to make a willow-whistle when he was seven. When have I made a willow-whistle the last time? It must have been the one I made to Winflaed. But how long ago? Must be six years...

It had been a hot, latesummer day. The crickets were chirping and the bees were buzzing, the dragonflies flew over the water searching for pray. The sunlight was gently filtered through the leafs on the trees around the stream. They were sitting by the little stream that ran beside Skara’s minor fields. Just behind the stream’s corner, they could see the little watermill, it’s wheel revolving slowly by the weak current. The main building on the top of the hill was just hidden from view by the few small trees and bushes by the streamside. Those trees also sheltered the people sitting beneath them from the cruelly hot sun of the early afternoon. Waermund and Waerferth were fishing with hook and line their father had made them. It was always a great wonder to Sythric, how young boys could be so taken in with something that they managed to concentrate and focus on it, even for a short while. The little boys watched the float intently, in total silence.

He had given his great uncle’s knife to Winflaed, and she had cut down a nice finger-thick willow for them. Then he had shown her, step by step, how the whistle was made: how the bark was loosened whole by tapping it with the knifehandle, where the airhole should be carved, how deep the mouthpiece should be cut, how it could be decorated etc. The eleven year old girl had watched in awe and wonder how the man had turned a mere greyish stick into an instrument with soft, curvy indentations running by its side. She just had to make one herself! Her little fingers handled her knife skilfully – Sythric had given it to her as a birthday present, when she had turned ten last year. She clearly had some talent with the knife. Only now that talent and skill was clearly directed more to decoration than making the whistle sound. After some toil Winflaed was happy with the result. But as was to be expected, it didn’t work. She bit her lip and fought against the tears.

They had reached a deal in the end. Sythric had made a new whistle, which Winflaed decorated. So as almost everything you could see, was made by her, then that way it was a whistle made by her. So went her reasoning, and Syhtric happily accepted it. She had been very proud of “her first whistle”, playing it for the rest of the summer everywhere – and getting most of the people quite annoyed in the end.

How dear memories! Did I ask Swithulf to take that whistle with him or not? He had preserved Winflaed’s unsounding whistle for himself as a memory of those days. But where was it now? The whistle that was so enthusiastically been carved by those little girl’s hands in times that were so much brighter and happier than the present. Where was that little girl, now a young lady? Running for her life, raped and abused, imprisoned, dead...? Now there was nothing to stop the tears. No one around seeing him cry. He sobbed his heart out there at the riverbank. The knife dropped from his hand and his body trembled with every new burst of tears.

But it was over soon enough. The chill, wintery breeze from the river helped to carry away the memories of golden summerdays. Pull yourself together man! There are pressing things at hand, and you sit here alone, crying like a child. He calmed himself down while peeling the last stick and then rose up. He dried his eyes and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He checked his image from the water. So wary, so old now with grief. Well, this might be your last chance of doing some decent deeds before you’re gone. He walked quietly back to the camp.

Leod had cleaned the deer, and was rubbing the seasoning to it with Eostre as he came to the fireplace. Sythric adjusted the vertical spit-holders to their places, while Leod and Eostre ran the two-yarder through the deer and tied the legs to its body. Then they all three lifted it up to rest on the boughs. The fire was burning brightly. It was only now, by the heat of the fire, that Sythric realized the weather being much colder today than it had been yesterday.

[Folwren]

Maeggaladiel's post


"Have you known your companions long, from your home?" Fion turned his attention back to Athwen as she returned. She had gone off to speak to Dorran, the young man who had confessed to thinking up the rock idea. He looked even younger than Fion, and from what he gathered, that was saying something. Dorran had been afraid. Afraid that his companions were in danger, like the people of that town had been. Fion could sympathize. His anger towards the Wulfham riders began to subside. He wanted to speak to the lad as well, but just thinking about standing up made his head spin. Oh well. Perhaps they would get a chance to talk later.

Athwen was staring at him, and Fion realized that she was waiting for him to answer her question. He opened his mouth, and suddenly something occurred to him.

"You know, I really haven't," he said, somewhat surprised. It was true. They had lived in the same small village, but he had never known any of them prior to this adventure. It seemed odd, but he supposed it made sense. They were different ages, different genders, from different social standings....

"I really only just met them," he continued. He chewed a piece of fish thoughtfully, pondering this. "We've never really had a reason to get to know each other, I suppose. Most of them herd goats or cattle, or are old enough to never have needed to bother with someone my age. My family are farmers, not herders. We tend fields of vegetables and the like, and we raise chickens and geese. My father might've traded with Meghan's family once or twice, but I've never really had much reason to be with them, in all honesty."

[Undómë]

Rædwald


‘Hmmmm . . . well, it smells good.’ Rædwald picked up an oatcake gingerly between thumb and forefinger, juggling it quickly from hand to hand as he blew on it. ‘Hot, too!’ he added, grinning at the three cooks. He took a bite of the cake, one of the ones Brand had made and chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘Not bad, not bad,’ he said, nodding his head at Brand. ‘I think you’ve held up the honor of us Men of the Mark!’ He winked at Meghan as he turned the oatcake round for a closer inspection. ‘And not a sign that it’s been burnt to be seen.’

Rædwald took his battered helmet and wiped it clean with his shirttail. He piled the oatcakes in it and brought them to the gathering group near the fire. The deer had been cooking on the spit for a while and the spices that had been put on it gave it a tasty, enticing smell. The hungrier of the group had already begun shaving off the outside layers and greedily downing the hot, savory meat.

He cut a good long strip for himself and sat down on the ground close to where Meghan had plopped herself down. Brand he noted sat near also. Have to keep an eye on that young cur….. he thought to himself.

‘It’s a passable and pleasant company, don’t you think?’ he offered to no one in particular. ‘And now that we’ve all seen none of us is the enemy, I was just thinking perhaps we should all ride along together. What do you think? Strength in numbers, as they say. Or in a grimmer reflection, we have more chance of at least part of us . . . even one of us . . . reaching the King’s Hall with our dire report . . .’

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Meghan


For her part, Meghan sat quiet, waiting for someone to give their thoughts first. She liked these Wulfhamers, and really did not want their brief meeting to end. And surely they could go just as quickly with the addition of these new friends as they could by themselves.

She looked over to where Incana sat . . . there seemed something so familiar about her as she caught the woman’s profile. Her eyes flicked toward where Brand sat and flicked away just as quickly.

[Arry]

Arry's post


Brand was fully conscious of the assessing look Rædwald had given him. He kept his eyes on the strip of meat skewered on his own knife and occasionally his eyes strayed to the oatcake balanced on his knee, as if the both of these foods were the most important if not only objects in his world. He wondered what exactly Rædwald’s thoughts were and whether he had been found wanting.

He was relieved as the older fellow spoke aloud. ‘It’s a passable and pleasant company, don’t you think?’ Rædwald had said aloud. ‘And now that we’ve all seen none of us is the enemy, I was just thinking perhaps we should all ride along together. What do you think? Strength in numbers, as they say. Or in a grimmer reflection, we have more chance of at least part of us . . . even one of us . . . reaching the King’s Hall with our dire report . . .’ Words strung together into observations and questions were something he could deal with.

‘I’ve had some thoughts on that, too,’ Brand said, sticking his now empty knife in the dirt next to him. He looked round the gathering, taking them in at a quick glance. ‘I’m glad we’ve gotten past our first meeting. And I hope there are no lingering grudges.’ He looked at Osmod and then at Fion, meeting their eyes. ‘I think it would be good if we did ride together. For my part, the truth of that was brought home by our coming upon the burnt out village. It was only by luck that one of us was not killed by the cougar, and had we come any earlier to the village, we would be dead at the hands of the Orcs who raided it.’ He lowered his eyes to the ground before him. ‘I’m beginning to think that not all of us will make it to the King. But for our villages’ sakes, some . . . or even, one as Master Rædwald says, must.’

‘I can’t speak for you from Bregoware. You’ll have to decide yourselves what course you think is best for you. But we Wulfhamers are leaving early in the morning. By my calculations and Lord Aldwulf’s instructions, we are about three days north of where the River drops down in a great fall. We will turn west, then, and only a few days will bring us to the River Entwash where the Snowbourne flows into it. And at the western end of the Snowbourne lies the Hall of the King. We will be more than glad for you to join us tomorrow.’

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Maeggaladiel's post


Fion's ears had perked up as he heard Brand and Raedwald discussing the possibility of a joint mission between the Wulfhams and the Bregowarians. He found that now, he really didn't mind the idea at all.

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Arry's post


Brand plucked his knife from the dirt and wiped the blade on the leg of his breeches. Now the Bregoware folk must make their own decisions. He picked up the oatcake from his knee and took a fair sized bite from it. It was one of Meghan’s; he could taste the herb she’d kneaded into her dough. He nodded his head from one side to the other, slowly, knowing that she was watching him. With a long exaggerated swallow of water from his cup, he swallowed the morsel. ‘Not bad,’ he commented getting up to gather his things together for the morning departure. ‘I think even my sheep might like it,’ he said, grinning as he walked away.

[Maeggaladiel]

Nogrod's post


As Brand had come up with his suggestion, he rose up and left the fireside. Sythric followed his going, and noticed Raedwald watching after him too. “This Brand doesn’t seem to be a negotiating sort of guy?” Sythric hissed to Raedwald beside him with a half-voice. Raedwald agreed. They exchanged looks, not saying anything. But he surely shows more leadership than our Osmod does...

Well, fellow-Rohanians!” Sythric addressed the others around the fire. “I think our friends Raedwald and Brand have spoken wisely. Come morning, I will be riding with you Wulfhamers. I hope we all are. But Fion here makes me anxious. If he is not able to ride tomorrow, we’ll have a problem in our hand. So let’s pray the good earth for him.” Then he turned to Leod: “Leod, if there is just anything more you can do for him, please do it?” Leod nodded slowly, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Sythric rose up from the fireplace. “By the way, I guess we should start trusting on each other already this night. Doubleguards should not be necessary. I have slept very well last night, which probably is not true with all us Bregowarians.” With that he made a quick, smiling glance at Osmod and Meghan. “So let me take the midnight watch then. Just wake me up in time.” With some people nodding in a sort of agreement, he left the fire.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post

Dorran pulled the edges of his cloak tightly about his shoulders and shivered slightly, as a gust of wind blew down from the north and went rattling through the trees. After finishing dinner, almost everyone had settled down for the night, buried under as many blankets as they could find. The entire camp had quickly fallen asleep. Dorran had volunteered to take the first watch. He had not explained his reasons for wanting to do this to the others. The real truth was that, although his body was tired, he couldn't stop thinking. The events of the past few days still weighed heavily on his mind. He'd checked the outer perimeter of the camp several times and then sat down close to the fire, finishing up some cooking duties left over from the evening.

He found himself thinking about his sister, wondering what she was doing and whether he would ever be with her again. The carnage in the village had been a grim reminder of the fragility of life and the uncertain ways of the world. He was so engrossed in his reflections that he barely noticed when Athwen slipped up beside him and sat down on a nearby log. Seeing the young woman's weary face, Dorran stood up and offered her a cup of herbal tea that he'd just finished brewing.

"Can't sleep?" he inquired gently. "Neither can I. I figured I might as well take the first watch rather than lie in my blankets and toss." The young man glanced over at Athwen and added softly, "I really did mean it. I have some idea what you're feeling. When I was little, I lived with my parents in a small village just to the south and east of Gondor. One day the Orcs came through, burning and killing everything in their path. The next morning the Easterlings arrived and anyone left alive was dragged off to work on the plantations as slaves." Dorran shuddered slightly as memories came flooding in. "not that there were too many, of course. The stupid Orcs were so bloodthirsty that very few made it through the night.'

"We were lucky....or so my mother said. Both my parents survived and also one of my aunts. But all my other cousins and neighbors perished in the first attack, and my little brother....." Dorran stopped for a moment and shook his head before going on. "My younger brother was killed. Anyways, we had little time to mourn. The next morning the Easterlings dragged the rest of us off in chains to work on the big plantations under the great smoking mountain. A horrible land, just horrible, with Orcs everywhere you looked. Nothing like Rohan, where we managed to escape later on."

Dorran took a gulp of air and forged ahead, afraid that if he stopped talking for a moment, he would never get the words out. "So I do have some idea what you're feeling.....the bad pictures running through your head and the times when you wonder why everyone else died when you're still here alive. Anyways, i'm sorry, terribly sorry for what happened. If we had only gotten there sooner, maybe..... But it's no good thinking like that. We all do what we can and learn to live with the rest. But that learning to live, it'll take time, lots of time. It will get better, though, after a while. I can promise you that." Dorran picked up a long stick and poked it into the dirt, drawing a series of circles and wondering if he'd said too much.

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Folwren's post


Athwen lay in the dark, her eyes blinking wearily in the fire light. But she couldn’t sleep, for all the tiredness in the world. She sighed and tried to get comfortable, turning her back to the flickering flames. It was impossible, she knew. Try as she might, keeping her eyes closed, and lying very still, she just couldn’t entice sleep to come and take her. It didn’t. It positively refused and soothing slumber was kept out at bay, as though waiting for a particular wave to b ring it in.

With another sigh, she sat up, letting the blankets fall away. She shivered suddenly as the outer air caught her on unawares and she reached out her hand as she stood up to pick up one of the blankets. She turned her back to the campfire and as she walked away, she wrapped the blanket around her head and shoulders, her hands grasping it about her throat securely. She left ring of firelight and looked about for Dorran. She knew he had taken first watch and she didn’t want to be alone. To him she went and when she reached him, she said nothing, but slowly sat down on a large fallen tree near him.

Dorran saw her and rose to his feet, taking in his hand a cup. As he drew near she looked up at him.

‘Can’t sleep?’ he queried. Athwen shook her head. He extended the cup towards her and she stuck one hand out from beneath the folds of her blanket to take it. ‘Neither can I. I figured I might as well take the first watch rather than lie in my blankets and toss.’ There was a pause. Athwen was looking at her tea and was unaware that Dorran stood considering her. ‘I really did mean it,’ he said softly in a moment. ‘I have some idea of what you’re feeling. When I was little. . .’

With bowed head, Athwen listened to Dorran’s own story. He told her about the attack on his village when he was just a boy. He had seen it. . .and he had been just a child. Tears brimmed in her eyes to overflowing and when her dark lashes fell, the drops broke free and ran like little rivers down her cold and pale cheeks.

‘So I do have some idea what you're feeling. . .the bad pictures running through your head and the times when you wonder why everyone else died when you're still here alive. Anyways, I'm sorry, terribly sorry for what happened. If we had only gotten there sooner, maybe. . .But it's no good thinking like that. We all do what we can and learn to live with the rest. But that learning to live, it'll take time, lots of time. It will get better, though, after a while. I can promise you that.’

Athwen lifted her head and looked up at him. He was trying to give her hope. . .hope of the future, and he was also offering her strength. And somehow, she felt she was receiving it. He knew, and that was enough.

‘Dorran,’ she said after he had finished and had stood in silence for a moment. ‘You were just a child then, weren’t you? How did you get away from the Easterling’s plantation? And did your parents live?’ She wanted to know. Did he come out of his hardships quite as alone as she had? How had he learned to live, even in time? To her eyes, her future looked bleak. She would be with these companions until they reached Edoras, and then what? Where would she go next?

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Tevildo's post


Dorran shook his head and then replied softly, "That was over five years ago. I try not to think about it. My mother and I, plus my little sister Creide and my brother Wulf, worked on the plantations several years. They were large spreads on the outskirts of Mordor......grim and dark places, with the land so blighted that it was hard to grow anything. Not that those in charge would brook any excuses if you could not turn out what they wanted."

"My father worked in an iron mine some distance away. He tried smuggling messages to us, and sometimes he was able to slip something to those who came and delivered the supplies. We thought of trying to escape, but we couldn't just leave my father behind and there was no way to get through to him."

"We didn't hear news for a long time. Then, one day, the word came from some workers who'd been sent to the mines with a wagon of food. They heard my father had died, killed by one of the Orc masters. They brought us the medallion he kept about about his neck so I knew they spoke the truth." Dorran's fingers inched upward to feel the raised outline underneath his tunic where the necklace lay nestled against his chest.

"Once he was gone, there was no reason to remain. My mother and aunts ran errands for the Easterling captains, hauling things in two wagons. We managed to slip out under the load of supplies that was supposedly being taken from one plantation to the next....my mother and I, my sister, my aunt and my older brother. It was a tough journey out of Mordor. My sister and I made it along with my aunt, but not my mother or older brother." Dorran continued speaking without a break in his voice or any further explanation.

"We made our way north and west, and eventually ended up in Wulfham. My aunt died shortly after we came. Since then, I've helped to raise my sister. We both went into service. Anyways, she's all I have, but I am lucky we're together. Wulfham has been good to us and especially the Lord of the hall. I just hope the village is alright and my sister and all the others will come through safely to Edoras. I don't want to lose her."

Athwen sat silent as Dorran finished his story. Then he jumped to his feet and added, "I have to go check the outskirts of camp. You'd best get to bed now. Going without sleep won't change anything, and we have to get through to Edoras as quickly as we can." With that, Dorran walked off into the distance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Folwren's post

Athwen was silent and very still for some time, even after Dorran had left her. She followed his retreating figure with her eyes until the darkness hid him and then she turned and dully looked out towards the trees. A sigh came to her lips and she dropped her eyes to the half drunk tea in her hand.

'Poor chap,' she murmured to herself. 'But at least. . .at least his sister was spared him.' She found herself on the verge of crying again. She lifted her hand and covered her eyes while at the same time tried to swallow the hard lump in her throat. 'I would that someone else had lived for me, though,' she whispered. Only the wind heard her, and that was just as well, for no one could give her that wish.

After another moment she rose and walked back towards the camp. The fire was dying down. Athwen knelt beside it, drained the rest of her tea, and then put the cup down. She glanced around herself quickly and then reached out and grasped one of the larger peices of wood earlier brought in by Sythric. With it she stirred up the old logs and then she laid it across the new flames. It would keep it going for a little while and after that, the person on watch would have to enliven it. She was going to take Dorran's advise and go to sleep.

[Nogrod]

Dorran had taken the first watch - insisting on it, as he could roast the rest of the deer and cook the organs while on guard. So they would have something for tomorrow too, from today’s kill. Dorran woke Sythric in the middle of the night. It was even colder that it had been during the evening, and the temperature seemed to be falling all the time. The mist rising from the river had spread all over the camp. In the dark of the night, the faint glow from the two dying fires made the mist look eerie enough.

Sythric started walking to get warm, stopping every once in a while to listen to the sounds of the night. There was not much to be seen, as it was dark enough. Back on camp, Sythric noticed Fion sleeping quite restlessy. He had already trampled his blanket to his feet. Sythric readjusted his blanket and tried his forehead. It was moist and warm. Sythric was concerned, but obviously couldn’t actually do anything.

It was probably the second hour of the night, when Sythric realized, how cold it was getting. The little drop of tea at the bottom of the cup near Fion had frozen. The night has been quiet so far, so making a good fire should be safe enough? Even easterlings won’t move away from their fires during nights like this... And compare the risks with Fion, or anyone! So it was decided. Sythric got to the thicket and brought a good armful of sticks and some heavier wood to the larger fireplace. He relit the fire, letting it rise high, producing much desired warmth around. Then he woke Fion up, and carefully helped him to change his sleeping-place nearer the fire. Fion’s dreams and the fever had somewhat unbalanced the young man, but as Sythric gave him some water to drink from his flagon, and talked to him soothingly, he fell back to sleep. Sythric sat by his side for a moment, wondering what tomorrow might bring up with him.

Sythric took a walk outside the camp’s perimeter again, this time venturing all along to the edge of the grassland, again listening to the now dying voices of the night. The owl whistled somewhere quite near, but then it was all silent. As he returned to the campsite with some more wood to burn, he noticed that most of the people had changed their places, sleeping tightly around the fire.

As soon as he had relit the smaller fire too, he noticed, that the few remaining people had moved to sleep by the fires also. No. One is missing... Sythric counted the sleepers again. Only ten? Then he saw him – it has to be Brand, as Sythric gazed over the other sleepers around the fires. Quietly Sythric walked to him and woke him up carefully. Brand was startled by the sudden awakening, but calmed down quickly. “Please, do not get yourself a cold sleeping here. All the others sleep by the fires. And no, it’s all safe. I’ve only seen one fox and heard an owl. That’s all there is on the move around us tonight. And it’s freezing cold in here.”

Brand rose to sit and rubbed his eyes, shivering as he got out from under the blanket. Then he asked for the time. That seemed to be something Sythric had totally lost track of, while occupying himself with the fires! It clearly was a long way into the third watch already. “I guess we’re approaching “the wolf’s hour”, as we say in Bregoware – you know, the moment when everything just stands still for an hour before nature starts to wake up again to a new dawn?” Brand nodded, seemingly knowing the idiom well enough. “And I think, I should’ve woken someone up, already a good hour ago...” He smiled to Brand with that comment. Brand managed to smile back: “Well, you’ve just woken one up, so why don’t you let me take the watch from now on?” he asked Sythric. “You are welcome, Brand” Sythric answered, and with that, offered his hand to Brand, to help to get him up. Brand grasped Sythric’s hand by the wrist and Sythric did the same, then Sythric half-pulled Brand up, and they both walked to the fireside: Brand starting to poke the fire, and Sythric finding a place to sleep for the last hours of the night.

They all woke up early. Despite the fires, it was chillingly cold. Athwen and Dorran came up with some light breakfast, while Sythric and Leod studied Fion with Raedwald. Fion assured them that he was alright, but Leod insisted on checking and at least Sythric was a bit suspicious. Fion seemed to have no fever anymore, but otherwise he did look quite feeble to Sythric. In the end Sythric managed to insist, that Fion should make a little test with him. So they ran, with easy pace, to the edge of the grassland and then back with full speed. Even though Fion was back first, it surely seemed like a greater exertion to him than to Sythric. After Leod had examined him a little more, he told others, that Fion could ride with them. Sythric was relieved, but still worried about the hardships they might have to face - and how Fion would manage them.

[Undómë]

Meghan

‘I don’t care what you told my brother. You do not need to ride by my side like some hound guarding a prize nanny!’ Meghan’s teeth were clenched as she spoke; her words barely audible as Rædwald held her horse’s reins. Her fists were gripped tightly about her saddle as she placed it atop Ash’s blanket, knuckles as white as the frost that laced the ground. A barely banked anger made her body stiff with the effort to keep it under control.

Ash shook her back as the saddle was placed, protesting the vigor with which Meghan had put it down. ‘Sorry!’ Meghan’s voice took on a less indignant tone as she spoke to the nervous animal. She cinched the saddle on securely and grabbed the reins from Rædwald’s hands.

‘Go eat! Go polish your helmet! Go do something and leave me alone!’

---------------------

Rædwald

Now what had brought on this fit of temper? Perhaps, he thought in hindsight, it might have been better had he simply stayed close to her as they rode, rather than to try his reasoned arguments on her; the ones concerning how much safer she would be by staying near him. Worse yet, he conceded, was that he had actually tried to order her to comply, citing his own expertise in fighting and her brother’s express requests of him.

He paused for a moment and turned back to her. She was just tying her bedroll onto the back of her saddle. A pale light filtered down through the bare branches of the trees and caught her face in profile. The planes of her face had softened as she spoke to her horse in a soft, sing-songy voice. And the cold breeze brought a flush to her cheeks. Several strands of pale gold hair strayed from her thick braid and curled along the hollow of her jaw.

It struck him how like her mother she was. Esme had been beautiful in those long gone days. Without, and within, her beauty. And a kind, gentle spirit, too. Old memories flooded in, hitting him with an almost physical force. He shoved them away, knowing there was no profit in pursuing them . . . the what-ifs, the might-have-beens. He had gone soldiering. And when he’d returned she was married, with two children to look after and Alric, a good-hearted man, at her side.

Tsah! Water under the bridge, old man! he reminded himself. Though Alric is gone, Esme is but a fragile ghost of herself. Best leave the memories for your dotage.

He drew in a deep breath and looked away to where the sun’s light struggled through the grey haze of early morning. And then looked back once more, the light of this present reality forcing the picture before him into sharper detail. Esme’s daughter . . . Esme’s spirited daughter . . . Yes, he would see her through safely . . . for her mother’s sake, he must see her through.

‘That’s it, then Lis,’ he said, turning back to his mount who was already packed and ready to go. ‘We’ll simply have to outmaneuver her . . .’

[Arry]

Head looking down as he checked his horse’s hooves for cracks or any lodged stones, Brand looked for all intents as one absorbed in seeing his horse ready for the journey. Truth was, though, he had already seen to Lady and found her in want of nothing. What did absorb his interest was the little scene playing out between the man, Rædwald, and Meghan.

She was angry; he could tell that from the look on her face. And she had sent him away. And Rædwald, what was in his mind about her? He had gone off willingly enough. But had stopped and turned to look back at her. The man’s face had taken on a considering look and then softened into a look of fondness and regret. What was he to her, Brand wondered. And even more so, he to her.

Brand set Lady’s leg down from where he’d held it against his knee. He stood up straight and looked about the camp. In little groups of twos and threes, the riders were gathered; their horses packed, and only the last few adjustments to packs and such were being done.

He mounted up and walked Lady to where Meghan was waiting astride her little mare. He reached into his small bag that hung from the front of his saddle and fished out one of last night’s oatcakes and a piece of smoked fish. ‘I didn’t see you at our hasty breakfast, Mistress Meghan. May I offer you this to tide your over until we’re well down the river?’

‘Are we ready?’ he called out in a louder voice to the other companions. ‘Who will take the lead for a while this morning? And who will be the rear guard?’

[Undómë]

Rædwald

‘I’d be happy to take the lead for a while.’ Rædwald moved up near Brand. ‘Be helpful if you rode with me a bit. Let me know what route you’d like to take.’ Osmod, he could see, was moving toward the rear of the column. Good man! he thought to himself, giving the young man an approving nod as he caught his eye briefly.

‘And who will want to go out as scouts?’ he asked as the group lined up, ready to go. ‘One or two would be good. Range out in front of us and look for any signs of trouble.’

[Valier]

Vaenosa shivered as she pulled her bed roll up higher, it was going to be a cold day for riding. Sitting up she pulled on her boots and threw her warmer tunic she had packed, on. Nay lay sprawled on the ground beside her bedroll. I better pack up my stuff now, I presume we will be leaving soon. She packed away all her belongings into her pack laying her bow and quiver as well as the large blade she had found ontop of her pack ready to go. I could sure go for some of that left over deer and a cup of tea.She headed towards the fire and the few figures that stood around it. Already others seemed to be up and about, two of the strangers, a woman and older man seemed to be having a disagreement and Brand and some of the other men were discussing the plan for the day.

Vaenosa quickly gulped down a cup of tea and wolfed down a slice of the deer. By the time she was done she noticed Nay was up and she thought she would ready him for the trip. She hoped today would not be a repeat of yesterday, Nay had become overly excited after his little show down with the man Osmod.He seemed to be calmer today, perhaps he knew they were off again.

After a good brush and rub down Vaenosa let him go and graze before she packed him up.Everone was now up and mulling around, tending to their horses as she was and hurrying to tidy up the remainer of the camp.

After a short time everything was packed and ready to go, even Nay gave no resistance to being loaded up. Brand called from the front of the group, asking if everyone was ready, which was followed by a number of yay's." Who shall take the lead and the rear positions?" He also asked them. Vaenosa spoke up," I will take up the front, I see far and Nay should not have another horse's tail infront of him for at least awhile today...I shan't have him misbehaving today." With that she looked around and caught Osmod eye, she almost smiled momentarily, but hesitated. She took from her pocket a leather tie, and tied her hair back from her face and pulled her hood up to shield her from the wind. Nay gave a nicker and they headed towards the front of the now fairly large group.

[Folwren]

Athwen sat hunched in her saddle, shivering uncomfortably in the cold. She was without cape or cloak and the dress she wore had been donned on a warm day for Autumn. The wind teased her hair and she pushed it impatiently and rather snappishly out her face. She was tired and as much as she liked horses, she didn’t want to be riding on such a cold morning.

There’s really not much of a choice here, she reminded herself sternly. Her jaw clamped tighter as another soft gust of cold wind sent another shudder through her. Think of something else, why don’t you? . . . Not that there’s much else to think about.

Yes, there is. Her eyes darted in the direction of Dorran. He rode to her left, just a few feet ahead. Their conversation from the night before came back to her and she sat and considered it until her cold hands brought her back to the present.

‘Now, you be good, Parith,’ she muttered to the horse. He only deemed her worthy of one ear being turned in her direction. She didn’t even notice as she tied his reins together and looped them over the horn of the saddle. Once they were secure and not in danger of slipping off, she rocked first to one side and then to the other, slipping both her hands beneath her to sit on them. ‘If nothing else can be warm, at least my hands will,’ she told him. ‘It doesn’t do to ride with numb fingers.’

She looked around her at all the companions. Her eyes passed over all of them until they spotted Fion and then she looked twice. She hadn’t thought about it yet that morning - how did he feel? Was he doing alright? She certainly hoped so, and from her lack of knowledge of the sort of thing, she guessed that he would recover from the bump quite as easily as a child would from being cracked over the head with a stick by one of his siblings. She pulled one hand out and reined her horse about and came to Fion’s side.

‘Good morning, Fion,’ she said, as she approached him. ‘How are you doing today? Is your head hurting?’ She gave him a smile with her welcome, brief and small, and then dropped the rein once more and once more sat on her hand while he replied.

[Maeggaladiel]

Fion looked up as he heard Athwen speak.

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you," he said. It was partly a lie; his forehead still ached, and he found himself getting dizzy if he turned or stood up too fast. But it was a great improvement from yesterday, and Leod had pronounced him fit to ride, and so Fion saw no reason to let anyone think otherwise.

Fion tightened the girth strap on his horse's saddle. Apparently, the mare felt absolutely no sympathy for Fion's injury and decided to act as contrary and spirited as she had on their first day of riding. This might be a problem.

"I think this nag will bring me more headache than this bruise will," Fion grunted, trying to secure his pack on the horse's back. She took a few taunting steps sideways. "Not that I'm not happy to have her back; I was almost certain she'd be halfway to Gondor by this morning, the way she takes fright and bolts. I'm glad Incana managed to find her." He looked up at Athwen again and grinned. "Otherwise, I'd end up being a Walker of Rohan instead of a Rider. I don't care as much for that particular title."

With Athwen holding the reins, Fion climbed up into the horse's saddle. For a horrifying moment, the world seemed to spin and dance around him, but then the moment passed. So far, so good, Fion thought to himself.

"Ha!" he said, grinning again at Athwen. "Another triumph for riders everywhere."

[Undómë]

Meghan


There had barely been time for her to say ‘thanks’ before Rædwald was calling Brand to come ride with him. She kicked Ash lightly in the flanks and urged her just behind the two men. Munching on the oatcake and piece of fish, she positioned herself a number of paces behind their horses. To be honest, she didn’t trust Rædwald not to warn him off her – him thinking he was doing what her brother might do.

Leof! I swear once we are back face to face, I will give you a good piece of my mind on this stunt you’ve pulled. Nice as it had been at the beginning when he’d first showed up, a familiar face from home. Now his presence was beginning to grate on her . . . and all the more so since they’d found the burned village. If he could, she thought, he would send her back to be with the other villagers on their slow march toward Edoras and he would take her place here.’

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of one of the Wulfham women riding to the fore of the group. Vaenosa, she thought her name was. She had not really met her, though. The woman seemed to want to hold herself apart from the rest of the group – Wulfham as well as Bregoware, or so it seemed to Meghan.

Soon the woman had passed by the two men in front of Meghan. Perhaps Vaenosa was going to be one of the forward scouts. Her estimation of the woman went up several notches. ‘Brave choice, Vaenosa!’ she said quietly to herself, wishing her well as Vaenosa passed out of view.

[Nogrod]

As Sythric mounted Thydrë, all seemed to be quite ready. Raedwald and Brand were at the head – and this Wulfhamer girl, Vaenora? - was gaining speed, heading forwards, away from the others. Osmod seemed to be settling at the rear of the party. How like him, and that’s good. He rode past Osmod and nodded to him approvingly, giving a little smile as he passed him. “Let’s enjoy a fast ride today, otherwise the cold of the riverside will catch us!”, he said to Osmod, and then spurred to the front, approaching Brand and Raedwald.

Raedwald and Brand noted Sythric’s approach, turning to see him. “If you don’t mind, I think we are numerous enough to afford another scout. If this Vaenora there will ride about the route you will take, I’ll take my path a little bit to the inland, just covering the flank. Is that alright?”.

After approval, Sythric spurred Thydrë to a full gallop, teasing her to make the best of it by every now and then patting her neck, and whispering to her things that were only between them, their talk. Thydrë was in her element now, racing through the open land. The wind ringed in Sythric’s ears as they almost flied away from the group. Sythric was enjoying the ride too – even though it was cold, it was indeed really cold.

Soon he saw Vaenosa looking back, after hearing the approaching sound of the hooves. She was still over fifty yards away. Sythric pointed with his hand straightforward, then pointed to himself with the same hand, and turned the hand a little bit to the right of the straight course. After that he motioned Thydrë to start lightly to angle rightwards. Slowly his path started to diverge from Vaenosa’s. She seemed to get his meaning, as she continued on the trail she had begun.

Sythric looked shortly backwards. The whole group was on the move now, in steady canter, but gaining speed. “C’mon Thydrë, we should be up front now – far away from those people! Or is there not a girl enough in you for it?” he whispered to Thydrë’s ear, and then she really flied.

[Undómë]

Meghan

Soon the entire group had moved forward. . . . leaving the camp behind. Both Vaenosa and Sythric had gone on ahead as scouts. Meghan wondered how often they intended to check back with the main body of the group.

And as the sun rose near the mid-day position against the grey sky, the riders could see in the distance the sharp drop of the rocky cliffs as The River cut its way downward into the limestone layers. The river's waters she had heard in tales picked up speed here in the Sarn Gebir, and went rushing southward to the great Falls of Rauros.

[Arry]

It had always been Brand’s habit to let the older person speak first, or even to let them direct the conversation. But Rædwald, it seemed, was a tough nut to crack. And so it fell upon Brand to move their dialog along.

At first, they discussed their villages, and then ensued a general bit of talk on goats versus sheep; ailments in the flocks and their medicines; best types of feed; the use of dogs to tend the animals; how the pasturings were determined by season. Brand had a good head on his shoulders for this type of discussion on the relative merits of sheep and held up well against a die hard goat man.

The route to Edoras was also discussed, though not in such detail. Brand had never been far from his village and its surrounding lands and so intended to rely fully on the instructions his Lord had given him. It was with some relief he learned Rædwald had been to Edoras a number of times, and would be able to find it if there were some reason they could not follow the river any longer or were unable to head straight west to where the Snowbourn met the Entwash. A tale or two of Rædwald’s days among the Riders of the Mark were interwoven at this point of the conversation. Brand hoped that he did not seem like a gawking child as he listened wide-eyed to stories of battles and danger and the easy camaraderie of those in the Riders.

It was not until later in that long morning’s ride that Brand got up the courage to pursue the line of questioning that was burning at the back of his mind. He started out in a general way, asking how did Ræedwald know each of his present companions; getting round finally to the questions he really wanted the answers to. ‘And that Meghan,’ he began. ‘She’s a friendly one isn’t she? How old is she, do you think? And have you known her long?’ He asked it in a casual, general sort of way, hoping that Rædwald would feel as inclined to talk about her as he had the other subjects.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

The morning had approached from evening all too quickly, Eostre finding that things took off easily. She had been silent through repacking, through what little breakfast there was; through leaving the camp and bringing their horses into somewhat of a line.

And, as usual, she let herself slip closer to the end of the line. She was little use as a scout, and the foul mood which had seemingly beset didn't do anything for her. It seemed as if everyone loved the most naive members of the parties, disliking the idea of contact with any of the ones more world-wise. If there were any, that was to say.

Who didn't love Fion, after all? And now that he was injured...

She sighed, her horse at a steady canter as well as the rest of the party, silencing the thoughts that wanted her to say why shouldn't they love him? He's nicer than you are. Same with Meghan. They're all nice and friendly and caring. You're just scary, firm and silent. A chronic stoic who scares the meek and humbles the high.

The river slicing its way through limestone was more friendly than those around her, she thought.

It was more friendly than she.

Why do you think no one likes you? Because you're ugly? No, it's because you're a mean-spirited, cynical, agnostic...

[Folwren]

Athwen rode in silence once they started. Fion was not much for talking (she guessed it was because his head hurt him so). She was sorry for him, but she didn't know what to say. So she did what didn't always come easily to her and remained silent. She remained sitting on her hands even as they went out, for Parith was not going to cause trouble, apparently. He generally did well with other horses riding around him. They were traveling at a fast walk, occasionally breaking into a trot, and reining in again. At this rate, they would cover a great deal of ground that day. Athwen did some calculations, and if they traveled with little rest until nearly dark, they could cover close to seventy miles, but she doubted the horses would be kept at such a pace for ten hours.

She shook her head and looked around. For some reason, her eyes and attention were drawn abruptly towards Eostre. Athwen couldn't actually remember that that was her name - she hadn't talked to the woman, and she couldn't remember hearing Eostre talk to anyone else. She wondered. . .and when Athwen wondered, she generally got curious, and when she got curious, she wanted to find out. So she did.

Parith turned to her cue and slowed slightly until Eostre came opposite her and then Athwen rode to her side. Eostre shot her a doubtful glance and said nothing. Athwen said nothing, too, for a moment. Then started it quite as easily as she could, and said,

'Quite a cold morning, isn't it?'

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Glancing over at the woman riding beside her, Eostre couldn't help the doubtful look that lingered over her face. Though perhaps not so much doubtful as distrustful—everyone wanted to talk, to blather, to break her out of a shell everyone presumed she wore.

"Cold morning, isn't it?"

She snorted slightly. "Of course it's cold. You wouldn't expect it to be a warm day, would you?" came the reply from the woman, as she pulled her horse to the same pace as Athwen out of habit. Even if she didn't want to talk, there was such thing as respect. She wasn't going to shove it up someone's face, scream I don't care about the weather! Let them take a hint themselves, if they wanted...

Their paces now matched, the two horses carried along comfortably beside each other. The question had been a rhetoric; Eostre carried on without missing a beat. "What do you want?"

[Folwren]

Eostre's answer had been sharp enough. So, the woman didn't like small talk. Simple, mindless matters discussed between strangers. . .she didn't want that?

'What do you want?' Eostre asked immediately afterwards, having pulled her horse to Parith's speed.

That question was very close to ringing in Athwen's head, too, but in a different manner and with a different meaning. Well, she was blunt, that was certain. And tactless. But Athwen figured that she could be just the same if she wanted.

'To see why you were riding alone, and to talk to you to get to know you. If we're riding far together, it would probably be a good idea to get to know everybody. How old are you, and why did you come?' She had to have some reason. Athwen had already guessed that a woman like this wouldn't leave her home with a group of evident strangers if she didn't have to, or if she didn't have some extreme reason to go.

[Naria]

Starlight slowly plodded forth with the rest of the group and Incana found herself reflecting on the past evening and morning. It had been quite a chilly night and she remembered wanting a body next to her for warmth. This brought her to thinking about where Pup and gone to. Incana had not even realized that her friend had not been around at all since the new group arrived in their camp. She thought about getting up to look for him or at the very least call out for him, but she considered against the idea since she was relatively warm in her bedroll.

Incana awoke the next morning, noticing the frost that had creeped into camp and devoured everything that was on the ground including her own bedroll. Shivering she reluctantly crawled out into the chilly air and brought herself closer to the warm fire. Incana was having a bite to eat and some of Dorran's wonderful tea when she heard a yelping bark. Pup came through some bushes just to the right of her and he licked her face. "Well, well aren't you a sight for sore eyes" she said to him ending with a giggle. He was covered in soot and mud again. Oh dear she thought, he must have gone back to the village. "I am sorry that your home is gone, but I promise to take good care of you". A tear came to her as she tried to wipe some of the grime away from his eyes.

Her attention was immediately torn from the dog when she heard Brand announce that we were to pack our horses and move out right away. Incana's heart skipped a beat, either from excitement or dread, she was not sure and it gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Incana finished up the last of her packing and secured everything to Starlight. She made one last glance around camp as to not leave anything behind and mounted her horse. Incana gave a quick whistle to Pup and Starlight and the three companions followed the group in the direction Brand had told them.


They had been riding for some time with little conversation. Incana had dozed off a few times and was in need of some stimulus. Since Vaenosa had decided to take the lead, yet again, and scout ahead. Incana thought it best to talk with someone else instead up catching up with the elusive Vaenosa. She just then remembered what the woman making oatcakes with her had said. Incana gave a click of her tongue to Starlight and caught up with Meghan. She herself had heard stories of a family that she had not known or met in Bregoware and wondered if maybe this young woman was a relative of hers. "Excuse me, I don't mean to be a bother, but I have heard stories from my Father that we have family in your village" Incana suddenly felt uncomfortable and did not know what to say next. "I am sorry miss, I guess what I am trying to say is....are you or do you know of the family I am speaking of?"

Incana felt foolish for being so brazen and just coming out with such a question to someone she barely even knew. She felt her cheeks grow warm and turned her head away from Meghan. Incana gazed at the sky and took note at how bright the sun was overhead and she also took note of that very sun's rays reflecting off of a dark ominous cloud that was just ahead of them. She could only hope that the older men would have them set up camp again before the group got too close to the storm.

[Undómë]

Rædwald


‘Well, I’ve known her since she was a wee girl . . . her and her brother, Leof. Her parents and I were friends.’ Rædwald shifted in his saddle to have a better view of Brand. ‘And when I returned from my years as a Rider, I settled in a small cottage on my brother’s land, not too far from Meghan’s family. I have no children of my own, never married. She and Leof are like my own niece and nephew.’ He held back a smile at the expression of . . . relief, it appeared . . . on Brand’s face.

He turned his face back to the trail, wondering what the two scouts had managed to find out about the way ahead. The two men rode along in companionable silence for a while, Rædwald beginning to think a bit more favorably about this man of Wulfham. He broke the silence with a casual comment, remembering that Brand had asked some other questions about Meghan. ‘She’s seen seventeen summers, by the way . . . and, I know you didn’t ask, but I could tell it was on the tip of your tongue to do so. ‘No, she has no “intended” waiting for her return . . .’

He chuckled to himself a little at the thought of Meghan’s quite firm opinions on the matter of sheep.

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Meghan


One of the women from Wulfham had come up to ride along with her. Incana, the one who had helped make the oatcakes. ‘Excuse me, I don't mean to be a bother, but I have heard stories from my Father that we have family in your village. Do you know of the family I’m speaking of?’

Meghan wrinkled her brow, trying to think of any of the villagers she could associate with Incana. Perplexed, she shook her head ‘no’, saying she could not recall anyone who had relatives that had come from Wulfham.

‘But maybe you can tell me if you’ve heard of one of my relatives,’ Meghan said, her face brightening that perhaps Wulfham or at least a village near it had been where her Great-great Uncle had gone off to live with his bride. ‘My Gran’s grandma was named Gerdë. And Great-great Grandma Gerdë had a twin brother named Garan. He was a goat farmer. And one summer he took his flock across the river and north to some newer pastures. And . . . well, to make a long story short . . . he never came back. And I guess for a long time the family thought he was dead. But like I said yesterday evening when we were making oatcakes, a Ranger passed through our village and left a message for the family. Garan had married a woman from one of the villages up north – maybe close to yours, Incana. Her name was Eolyn. But I guess they never came back to Bregoware to see Garan’s family. And all through the years, though now I know he must be long gone and his Eolyn, too, we wondered was he happy and had he prospered there with his new wife. And were there children?’ She turned a wistful face toward Incana. ‘If there were children, surely I must have any number of cousins, wouldn’t you think? I don’t suppose you’ve heard those names, have you?’

[Nogrod]

Thydrë was relieved to fly through the landscape. She enjoyed this crisp morning gallop to the fullest. And so did Sythric. But soon Sythric came to think about things, and kind of catched on the problems he was facing. He was used to ride dangerous missions with men like him, or Raedwald: battle-hardened professionals. During the later days, he had also joined similar missions, with able-bodied men, at least knowing the trade somewhat, and under a decent leadership. At both occasions, he had been able to trust, that everyone along would know the basic manouvers, would be able to defend himself in trouble for awhile, would know what to wait for, would have a stern heart, would know who to aid first...

He was also used to ride with young people like these, a bit younger maybe, but not so much. And anyhow, at least Fion and Athwen could have been his apprentices. But then, he had been their warm-hearted tutor and teacher, and there had been no real danger. Now it was different. There were so many factors to pay heed to!

Don’t delve into these things now, my man! Enjoy the ride as you used to – and do a good job! With Gillsfang, all would have been different: she would have chosen the track by experience and instinct, but with Thydrë it was different. She had been scouting only a couple of times, and thence had to be steered all the time. Needing to take care of their path badly broke his concentration of the surrounding landscape. “You’ll learn one day my girl, you’ll learn”, he whispered to Thydrë’s ear, as they galloped forwards through small gorges and beside lesser hills. How long a time will we be allowed to practise these things?

As he had volunteered to scout, he had already marked the one bit higher hill than the others, some twenty miles ahead of them to their right, as a place to go for. Using all the natural covers, he had approached it from the small gorge, as unnoticeably as possible – and had found the lower edge of it quite empty. So he started climbing up the lower slope and looked back. The party was riding two or three miles behind him with steady pace. Vaenosa was speeding forwards ahead of them, almost at the level of himself, and just passing out of sight, behind a small knoll, some two miles away south, south-east. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful from this higher vantagepoint.

Soon he got to the top of the hill. He jumped off Thydrë, patted her easily and encouraged her to take some rest, fastly unpacking the couple of the heaviest packages on her. Then he walked the few steps to the highest point of the hill, and took a look around. In bright daylight, he could fathom out the silhouette of Croacht up north. Croacht, the biggest and most important city of the Rohanian Wold-land. The city where he – and Raedwald – had spent their prime-years, almost fifteen of them: riding as the defenders of the Wold, but in the first place, as the defenders of that city. There it laid, seemingly intact, as there were no great smoke rising on above the horizon from the city, or any great armies marching over the land towards it. Sythric was so relieved! Good earth, bless my eyesight at this moment!, he thought to himself. This was the sight he had wanted to see, and been afraid not to have seen. And the best was, that he couldn’t find out any larger or smaller bands of orcs or easterlings going around the landscape. The plains were just empty of movement, the few individual groups of people, seeming refugees, notwithstanding. Of course there could be anything behind any one of those hills, cliffs, hillocks, coppices or small woods about, but still, the scenery looked calming enough.

Sythric walked to the southside of the hilltop and took a look towards the route their party was taking. Farther in the distance, there was a small hillock, covered by some trees. That could be a perfect place for the afternoon break – and some light-lunch! Sythric became aware of his stomach giving its view of things by a great rumble. He was hungry indeed. Just a lunch and some rest before the afternoon ride. And I still have those chickens! What could this Dorran-guy come up with them? That's the place.

He re-packed Thydrë, regretting it to her, and mounted again. He was surely relieved, almost happy. His worst fears had not shown to be true, as Croacht seemed to be still standing. Maybe the enemy was not so strong after all to lay all the Wold in fire? Maybe these were just concentrated, but still minor attacks, not the full war he had feared?

He reached the wood by the hillock sometime after the mid-day. Vaenosa was riding towards him, somewhat to the east of him, about a mile away. He had shown her all possible handsigns to show the place he meant, and Vaenosa had turned towards him some time ago. Sythric jumped down at the edge of the trees and was about to unpack Thydrë, as his eyes got notice of something. There were wide scratches at the barks of the trees near him, one tree had been fallen quite recently, and the boulder beside them had been rolled out of its place. He started studying the ground more carefully. Judging from the marks and footprints, there had been a party here, not more than two days ago. And that had been a party of orcs, not men! He was familiar enough with these traces to interpret them with some confidence. He remounted Thydrë in haste, taking a look at the immediate surroundings: they had come from the east and continued towards the west...

He heard Vaenosa coming and turned to face her. As she was some twenty yards away, he shouted: "Orcs! No more than two days ago, maybe nearer, going westward! We should rest here for a while, but this is grim news indeed!"

[Arry]

Brand fell into a satisfied silence as he and Rædwald rode along. It was just after noon; the sun having barely begun its downward track toward the west. The day was still chilly, though there had been a brief period where the sun shone out brightly in a cloud free sky. That respite from greyness had gone all too quickly, as a grouping of large, dark clouds scudded up from the south and covered the sun. The cold wind, too, began to pick up a little and Brand was certain he could smell the promise of rain borne on it.

‘Rædwald,’ he said, bringing Lady near to Lis. ‘Looks like a little storm is brewing. I think we should sit it out somewhere sheltered, don’t you? We’ve been riding for a long time now; the horses and riders need a rest and a little something hot to eat before we turn west and push on.’

He looked far to the south, scanning the gently rolling lands for a suitable possibility. ‘Look there!,’ he said, pointing to a low hill with a covering of trees. ‘It’s only a short ways away, let’s make for that and rest for a while.’ He turned his horse about, saying he would head back along the line of riders to let them know what they were doing. ‘I’ll count on you, then, to keep us moving toward it . . . yes?’

The companions were strung out, some riding alone, others riding alongside a companion. He headed first for Osmod, the rear guard to let him know the plan, then worked his way forward until he’d reached where Incana and Meghan rode.

‘Begging your pardon, ladies,’ he said in a genial tone as he came up alongside Starlight. ‘We’ll be stopping soon to eat and rest the horses.’ His eyes flicked up toward the cloud swollen sky. ‘And to wait out the rain, too, before we turn west. There’s a little hillock with some trees we can shelter under – put up tarps if we need to. Down south . . . just a little further. It’s about at the place Lord Aldwulf said we should make the turn to head westward. We’ll have something hot to eat and drink and then go on ‘til evening.’ He glanced past Incana only to catch Meghan as she looked quickly away.

‘Yes, well then, I’ll just go back up with Rædwald . . . see you ladies at the rest stop . . .’

It was a lame transition, and he wanted to kick himself for not being more clever. On the other hand he felt quite pleased with himself. He had caught for the briefest of moments, before she drew them away, her light blue eyes looking keenly at him. One could shed the regret of not being clever with that bright image firmly fixed in his mind . . .

[Tevildo]

As the riders plodded onward towards the low hill that Brand had shown them, one or two large raindrops came plopping down upon their heads. Dorran pushed his hood up and pulled his cloak tight about his shoulders. Once again, Brand had been right. This light sprinkle was likely to pick up and turn into a true rainstorm by the time they reached the hill he could just see in the distance.

Dorran had started the morning in good spirits, flashing a friendly smile at Athwen and waving once at Incana. As the road had spilled southward and the clouds had blown in, the young man had found his spirits sinking for no fathomable reason that he could spell out in words. He could feel a definite foreboding in the pit of his stomach, a sensation that he found impossible to ignore or wish away. But why that feeling was there or what it might portend, Dorran had absolutely no idea.

It was only after the rain started to fall that shadowy images, vivid and horrific, began to intrude on Dorran's conscious thoughts. He glimpsed images of a place far away in time and place: women and children shackled together at the ankle with an Easterling master parading up and down the line. Dorran shuddered as he recalled how Urik and his captains would pull the younger women out of line and then drag them off to some unknown destination, never to be seen again. The rest of the slaves were sent out to the fields, with many of them silently weeping to see their beloved kinswomen so cruelly torn away.

Dorran shuddered as he remembered the sharp barbs of the whips of the Easterlings. The men were not as powerful or overtly brutal as the Orcs, but many of the Easterlings exhibited something even more frightful. Their captors had possessed a keen intelligence and cynical spirit, taking absolute delight in causing mental as well as physical pain---not the sharp, rapid blows of the Orcs that would be over in a minute, halted either by their own stupidity or the merciful release of death, but a slow torture, more like the dripping of rainwater onto a hard dirt surface. Eventually, the persistent water would have its way and transform the hard dirt into a muddy bog.

Dorran gasped in surprise as fragmented images of blood and pain that he had intentionally repressed for many years came slinking back into his mind. The last time he had mentioned Easterlings to Brand, he had made a terrible mistake in judgment. They had ended up attacking some good men and women. Perhaps he should keep his mouth closed and say nothing. Everyone else was fearing the attack of Orcs. Why then should he be thinking of the Men of the East? But what if his fears and premonitions were real? Could he forgive himself for saying nothing? Dorran promised that, once they had gotten to the safety of the hill, he would try and pull Brand aside and quietly speak with him again.....

[Undómë]

Rædwald

Rædwald urged Lis to a gallop. Given her head, her long strides ate up the distance to the little tree-topped hill. He’d left the steering of the group in Brand’s capable hands as he went to string up a few tarps between the trees where the riders and the horses might shelter.

The clouds were just opening up more overhead; what had at first just been a few cold spatters on the ground of icy rain now pounded with increasing intensity as he reached the top of the hill. Sythric was already there. And between the two of them they put up several sheltering canvasses.

A small fire was built at the northern edge of the little shelter. It would be protected from the rain and the little wind would blow the smoke out from under the tarps. By the time the flames were crackling the group was just coming up the short path to the hill’s top.

[Farael]

Brand had gone all the way to the back of the column and informed Osmod they’d be resting at the hill that was now visible ahead of them. He nodded his agreement and watched as the other man went up the rather dispersed line of riders, telling them all where they were heading.

”Alright then, I guess I should talk to this Brand when we stop. I shouldn’t let him think he’s the leader of us Bregowares as well.” Osmod chuckled to himself, even though he didn’t mind Brand. On the other hand, he’d been feeling rather put off by the way Sythric had all but unilaterally decided to join groups with the others. Even if Osmod himself would have supported the idea, it seemed the old man was just as quick taking his support away from Osmod as what he had been giving it on the first place. Yet the old rider was scouting ahead and now Osmod could make choices without having to deal with his stares. The way the old man looked at him whenever Osmod seemed to do something he disagreed with, made the young leader feel like a kid who had let his father down.

As the rain started coming down in big, cold drops Osmod decided they were too spread out and it would be best for them to stay closer. Now all they could see and hear was the rain, doubtlessly sent by the gods to cleanse the earth from the orc filth, it would not do to be ambushed and too far apart to help each other. Again.

He approached Fion whom he’d been keeping an eye on all day long and patted his back. ”Come my friend, we are not too far from rest. You have been doing great today, my brave fellow scout” Osmod said, smiling at the young man. Then, he hurried his horse to catch up with Eostre and Athwen, who seemed to be conversing. The young girl had a good heart, that was for sure, if she worried about the other riders in spite of the grief she ought to have been feeling. He told the women he would rather have everyone riding closer to each other for the time being and hurried his horse again, knowing they’d follow him. Then he stopped abruptly, almost causing a small collision.

”Athwen, would you like us to stop for a moment so you can get your cloak out of your bags? It’s raining now and you will be cold when the night comes if you let your clothes get soaked”

[Folwren]

Athwen looked up as Osmod addressed her again. She had instantly assumed that he would continue on ahead when he spurred past them, but when Parith pulled himself up sharply to avoid colliding nose and rear with Osmod's horse, Athwen realized she was mistaken. Her hands jerked out mechanically to grasp the reins and while she heard Osmod tell her to pull out her cloak she evened them out in her hands.

'I don't have a cloak,' she told him, looking up as she spoke. 'Everything was burned, remember? I came back too late to save anything, much less clothing. I'll live, though. It is a bit chilly.' She looked up with regret at lowered clouds and the cold rain drops wetted her face and slipped down to her collar.

Osmod frowned at her explanation and turned his horse about. She watched as he once more drew up to her and her mount's side. He draped his reins over his horse's neck and then his hands went to his own cloak's clasp at his throat.

'You can have mine,' he said, undoing it.

'Oh, no!' Athwen cried. 'Then you'd be without it! I'm fine, really I am. I don't-' the cape was placed over her shoulders - 'need it, really,' she ended, sounding rather lame. 'Osmod, please. . .'

'You can't change my mind,' he told her with a smile. 'You need it more than I do.' She smiled back at him and relented.

'Thanks,' she said quietly. He nodded and rode on. Athwen watched him go as she fastened the cloak shut and then pulled the hood over her head. It made a difference immediately, for it was warm from him. He's very kind, she said to herself, still following him with her eyes. He's so much like. . .like Korin was. At the thought of the name, she could barely keep the tears from coming to her eyes. She glanced quickly away and took a shuddering breath. To distract herself, she address Eostre.

'It will be nice to stop and find shelter. This rain is likely going to get heavier before it goes away. Let's ride a bit faster and at least catch up with the others.'

[Nogrod]

Nogrod's post:

Sythric was showing the traces orcs had left to Vaenosa, as they noticed Raedwald approaching them. “Orcs, on their way westwards, maybe two days!” Sythric called to Raedwald as he had dismounted and came towards them. Raedwald took a fast look around the place and nodded thoughtfully.

The rain was slowly getting more intense and sudden gusts of wind made it even more chilly. Storm was building up. “Hoisting some tarps, should we? It will be a wet lunch without them?” he asked Raedwald, turning towards Vaenosa at the same time: “Could you get us some wood and get a fire going? Maybe somewhere there...”, he pointed uphill, to a place some twenty yards from where they were standing, “there seemes to be just a bit of more even ground”.

As Vaenosa left to get the wood, Sythric and Raedwald started to check the trees around the fireplace to come, to see where they could tie the tarps, and should they need additional supports. When they finally got to the bussiness of actually spreading and hanging the canvasses, Sythric asked Raedwald the question, he had been thinking a lot during the morning: “How about this Brand-fellow? You’ve been riding with him all morning, I gather. What kind of man is he? And have you got any idea, how Osmod takes this? A strange guy from another village just practically leading the whole group. He did seem to be a somewhat reluctant leader, but still. He has been so quiet after that attack. I wonder, whether you should talk with Osmod on a suitable occasion?”

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Undómë's post


‘I’ve upped my estimation of Brand,’ Rædwald said as the two men secured the tarps to the trees. ‘He’s not a military man, doesn’t think in those terms from what I can see. He’s a good, solid fellow, though, who listens to what his folk have to say, and takes their opinions into account.’ He tightened a knot round a branch and chafed his hands together to bring back a little warmth to them.

‘He’s got a good head on his shoulders and an admirable sense of responsibility for what tasks he takes on. And I think that’s how he sees this ride to Edoras. As a task he’s taken on for his village’s lord, and by extension for the village itself. He has a strong sense of family, too. His first loyalty, I think is to them and then to his village. Now that’s not to say he has no respect for the King. He does seem to in his own way.’ Rædwald looked into the distance, his face thoughtful. He’s a good man, one who would do right by you. And I think that’s why the others follow him . . . not because he wants to be leader . . .’

‘And Osmod, well I’m not sure what’s going through his mind. I think the ransacked village and the unfortunate injury to Fion has put him in a reflective mood. Both these young men . . . Brand and Osmod . . . they’re just farmers and ordinary villagers at heart. That’s where their real strength lies in the husbanding of land and flock and crop . . . not in the awful, foul business of war and slaughter and grim deeds.’

He took a breath and waved at the approaching group. ‘I wouldn’t want to push him . . . Osmod, that is. If he wishes, he can come to me with his concerns, in his own way and at his own time. It’s the consideration I’d give any man.’

[Tevildo]

Dismounting his horse, Dorran went over to Brand and excused himself for interrupting, "Can I speak with you? It shouldn't take very long."

Dorran managed to steer Brand gently over to a large fir tree that provided a convenient overhang from the cold rain that was still falling. "I know you must think me daft to keep going on about this. But I feel compelled to say something. Large groups of Orcs don't march out on expeditions like this unless there are some Easterlings nearby to follow up. The Lord of Mordor uses them to keep an eye on each other, because he frankly doesn't trust either group as far as he can throw a stone. And Easterlings are much better for dragging back riches or some of the captives, rather than simply butchering them wholesale."

Dorran drew a breath before continuing, "Out on the trail I had the strangest sensation that there might be soliders from the east lurking about, perhaps even watching us. Probably I'm wrong, but when I was younger I had a good nose for such things. Some of the men used to rely on me to warn me when someone was coming. Anyways, Easterlings and Orcs are different. Orcs will come and accost you face-to-face, engaging in a bloody fight. Usually they're on foot, but Easterlings are good with a bow and can ride well. They'll stay back and watch you for the longest while and pick their time very carefully, sending a barrage of arrows into camp before riding in on their horses."

"Of couse," indicated Dorran with a shrug of his shoulders, "I could be wrong about this, the same way I was wrong the last time. I'll let you be the judge." The young man darted a nervous look towards Brand.

[Arry]

Brand listened carefully to Dorran, nodding thoughtfully as the young man finished speaking. ‘What happened after we found the burned village, regrettable as it was, doesn’t make your knowledge about these matters any less true or well grounded. Seems to me that the rest of us still need to keep what you’ve told us in the front of our thoughts.’ He pursed his lips and looked down at the ground, kicking at a small rock near the toe of his boot.

‘I have to be honest,’ Brand went on, looking back at Dorran. ‘I’ve never seen an Orc; only heard the stories about them and how vicious they can be. And I guess that was all brought home to me with seeing Athwen’s and Leod’s village. The cruelty . . . it sickened me. Had you not brought up the Easterling men and how they might figure into all this, I would still be operating in ignorance of how that foul Dark Lord lets his armies run.’ He shook his head. ‘Orcs are bad enough . . . I mean you can kind of expect something this bad from them, being as how they’re sort of like monsters or deformed beasts . . . or at least, that’s how I think of them. But to think that men . . . I mean, how can they do such horrid things . . . things worse even than the beasty Orcs, if I understand you rightly.’

Brand ran his fingers though his tangled hair. ‘Well, all we can do is be on the alert as we ride along and set watches when we camp. You especially, Dorran, if you see or smell or hear anything suspicious, raise the alarm. “Better safe than sorry”, or so my father always says.’ He nodded at Dorran. ‘If they’re sneaky, like you say, your eyes and ears may give us one advantage we have . . . something to give us just enough time to either get away or to turn their attack aside before they can overwhelm us by surprise.’

He let his breath out in a noisy rush. ‘Whew! . . . Well, let’s put that aside for right now, what do you say. There are no Easterlings in sight at the moment and I’m hungry and cold . . . how about we get us something to eat and a hot cup of tea. Perhaps our chances will look better with our bellies full and our toes and noses warm!’

Brand put his arm over Dorran’s shoulders and walked with him to the fire, making small talk about Wulfham and family as they went along. In the back of his mind, though, Brand could not shake the image of the monstrous men, as he saw them, who would take the lives of others so lightly . . .

[Arry]

Nogrod's post

The chicken were roasted quite quickly. With bread, and whatever anyone had to go with them, it made a decent lunch. The rain wasn’t getting worse anymore, but had evened to a steady flow of water, from which the canvasses gave them occasional shelter. Four chicken to twelve people. Not so bad as missions go, Sythric thought by himself while taking a small sip from his wineskin. But this is not going to last too long... still, we all are cold. He looked at the half-empty skin in his hands for a while and then passed it over.

Addressing all the people around the small fire, he said: “I can continue scouting this afternoon, but if anyone of you is willing to go for it, I will be just happy to ride with the main group. But whoever is going to scout, I would like to give you some advice, as I think that most of you have never scouted in the head of a company. Sooner or later, many of us will have to perform that duty. My friend Raedwald here”, he glanced at Raedwald shortly, “can elaborate, if I make the point inadequately”. He caught Vaenosa’s eyes, then looked at Brand and Osmod to ensure their approval, and then continued.

“Basically scouting is easy. There are just two principles involved: see all, and do not be seen by any.” He smiled a bit after his words – and received the wineskin back from its tour from Leod, who was sitting next to his right. “But to accomplish that, you need two more things. You have to be fast, and you have to plan the best route well beforehand. And even as these are neither very complicated things, you could say, it’s an easy thing. It’s just when you have to combine all these four in real situation, that scouting becomes more challenging.”

He took another sip from his skin and closed the cork. “I saw Vaenora here...”, then he got baffled as Vaenosa’s look changed, “Venoa? Sorry, I must have slipped your name. Vaenosa was it?” As he saw some people around him nodding in comfirmation, he continued, slightly embarrassed. “Well, Vaenosa here”, he nodded to her, trying to apologize from her with his eyes, “I saw her riding today, and she was doing a good job. She was on the primary task of a scout, checking the route of the party ahead. Maybe one should pay a bit more attention to approaching possible ambush-places more covered and faster, but that was a good job from someone with no military training. You have talent for this work Vaenosa.” With that he smiled openly to her, and nodded approvingly. “But as we are strong enough in numbers, we can spare another scout also. And that work is partly different. The other scout should – as I did this morning – try to find places where he would have the best possible view to the surrounding areas. Kind of widening the scope of our awareness. In the best instance, we could have knowledge of any possible enemy from a day’s or two’s distance, and could avoid meeting them altogether. And that brings me to this morning. I climbed that larger hill back there. The city of Croacht seems to be standing, and there were no armies up and about spreading over our land. So also some good news to report on these unhappy times.” With that he ended, and turned questioningly towards Readwald.

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Undómë's post


‘That lifts my spirits . . . the news about Croacht. Though at the same time, I think that it will be hit hard once the bigger battles begin and that Dark Lord in Mordor pushes west.’

Rædwald threw the leg bone from the chicken he’d been eating into the fire, watching what little fat was left on it blaze up around the knob ends. ‘I think Sythric, is right in his little lesson on scouting. I know most of you who tend flocks have some experience with it . . . though your enemy would be of the four legged variety, and less likely to be as stealthy as some of the two legged sort.’

He nodded at Sythric, saying, ‘I think it might be best if you stay on as one of the scouts. Perhaps Osmod and Brand and I can take up the rear position, and be on alert for problems following us.’

Rædwald’s eyes flicked round the circle; some were uneasy at his words and glanced over there shoulders as if to make sure no danger lay behind . . .

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Folwren's post


The food and fire had thoroughly warmed Athwen. The borrowed cloak was pushed back over her shoulders and the hood draped down her back. She sat with her legs crossed and her elbows on her knees, looking from one speaker to the other as they talked about scouting and what dangers lay ahead. She wondered if there would really be any dangers to look out for. Surely the orcs would be long gone by now, and the Easterlings. . .they would have been seen by now if they were around, surely?

All the same, the older men’s words sounded grave and they were absolutely serious. She looked around the group of twelve and then out at the grey and dull sky and world outside the sheltering tarp. Certainly she wasn’t looking forward the leaving and heading out again. With a sigh she rose and went to the edge. She stuck her hands out beyond to catch the falling streamlets of rain water running from their tent. With it she rinsed her hands from the lunch and then turned back.

As she was returning to the fire, she noted Osmod by his horse, messing with the saddle bags. She altered her course and went to him, stopping behind him.

‘Do you want your cloak back? I’m quite warm now. Thanks very much for lending it.’

He looked over his shoulder at her and one of his quick smiles flashed across his face. ‘No, keep it yet a while longer. It’s still raining and you’ll need it when we leave.’

Her eyes almost twinkled as she smiled back. ‘You’ll need it to, I’ll remind you,’ she answered. He shrugged, closed the bag, fastened it and turned to face her, but she could tell from his face that he would still refuse. Her hands were at the clasp. ‘Won’t you take it?’ He only shook his head, and she gave up. ‘I saw you riding Vaenosa’s horse yesterday,’ she said at once. ‘You ride very well. Not many of the boys at home could have kept their seats as well as you. Do you train horses?’

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Farael's post


“Train horses?” Osmod laughed slightly “No, I can’t say I do that. But I spend a lot of time among horses, dogs and cattle. I guess I have learned a thing or two about each of them… A... and Nay, the horse, was only playing.” He smiled briefly, doing his best to downplay what had happened “He could have kicked me off if he had really wanted to” He smiled at Athwen, and offered her one of the biscuits he had taken from his bag, then he put a whole one in his mouth.

It was a moment before he could swallow and speak again, but the blush on his face spoke for itself. “I am so sorry… I guess I have learned about horses but forgotten my modals.” His face was crimson red and he could see Athwen found it quite amusing.

Osmod escorted Athwen back to the fire, as the last few drops of rain fell from the skies. Soon they would be leaving again and Osmod wanted to warm himself some, as he was colder than what he let on. But of course, he smiled at Athwen when she asked him if he was cold and denied it. His cloak looked rather funny on her and at any other time, he would have laughed about it. This time, the situation was too solemn for such thing.

Lost in his thoughts, Osmod did not realize Athwen had been talking to him. This caused Osmod to blush again, but this time, neither of them said anything about it.

[Arry]

Camp is packed up and the group turns westward across the plains

From the wide and rugged shelf of rock that formed the East Wall of Rohan, near where the Nen Hithoel cascaded downward in the Falls of Rauros, the small group of travelers had turned west into the broad valley of the East Emnet. It was atop one of the hillocks there that they had sheltered as the rains pelted down.

Sythric and Rædwald had managed to string some canvas tarps among the trees which afforded some respite to the horses and the companions. A small fire gave the added comfort of hot tea and hot food while the group waited.

The rains at first fell in a thick slanting curtain of water, cutting them off visually from anything at a greater distance than the lip of the hill. Sounds too were difficult to hear from outside the little area of shelter. The rain was loud as it beat against the tarps and splashed down on the sere grassed ground of late autumn.

Little by little the downpour let up. What was once a lowering darkness as the storm pressed in upon them, now gave way to the hazy greyness as rain became a lighter mist and then stopped all together. The threatening clouds had moved on and there seemed no more to follow.

Brand was the first done with the meal, and as the day had lightened, he went to where the horses were picketed and untied Lady. He brought her round to the area near the other tarp and replaced what few items he’d got from his pack – his bowl and spoon, his little packet of herbs for tea. The pack he secured to his saddle.

‘We should move out,’ he said, knowing that would be an unpopular plan; for although the rain had let up, the day had grown more chill from the damp and the wind. ‘There are a few more hours of light left to us. And now that we are turning westward, it is but three days’ ride to River Entwash, and from there just two to the King’s Hall.

He narrowed his eyes and looked west over the broad plain of the East Emnet. In the distance he could see trees scattered across the rolling countryside in little thickets. ‘We can make for that bigger coppice there,’ he said, pointing to where a small spinney of bare limbed oak were growing on a once grassy little rise. ‘That will be our night’s camp.’ He turned back to where most of the others were still gathered about the little fire. ‘We will still have plenty of evening light to set up our shelter once we get there.’

With some reluctance the others set themselves in motion. And soon the noon camp was taken down and packed away, the fire put out. The companions mounted up once again. Osmod and Fion rode at the lead for now as Brand and Rædwald fell to the back. Two scouts went out as before . . . Vaenosa, as was her preference, and one other . . .

The horses plodded westward with as much enthusiasm in their gait as seemed on the faces of those astride them.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The leader of the Balchoth beckoned to the others to follow behind in a single line. After riding for some time, Lord Calimehtar indicated that they were getting close to the junction of the trail where the strangers should be found.

Calmehtar raised a hand in warning, his jewelled ring flashing as it picked up the last light of the day; the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. The riders moved with perfect grace. They barely made a sound as they pushed ahead to the spot that the scouts had identified. Their leader bore an ornate bow slung over one shoulder, and an elaborate curved blade that hung down on his hip. On his chest was an breastplate emblazoned with the symbol of the Eye. For these men were Easterlings, members of a cruel clan completely under the sway of Sauron. For nearly six hundred years, the tribe had terrorized the lands on both side of the Great River, often in the company or with the help of Mountain Orcs. Long ago in the year 2510, they had launched a massive invasion to the west, but had been thrown back by the combined might of Cirion, the twelfth steward of Gondor, and Eorl the Young, who had led the horsemen of the North.

The Balchoth had nursed their grievances and injuries for some five hundred years, never forgetting how they hated the riders and those who called themselves the Rohirrim. Soon now, Lord Calimehtar reasoned, they would take their long desired revenge, dragging off the populace to serve as slaves in Mordor and taking over the lands that should rightfully belong to the Balchoth and the other servants of darkness. Their secret raids were only the first step in a campaign that had been carefully planned, an unleashing of blood and terror that would signal the advancing power of Sauron over the peoples of the west.

Earlier that day, Calimehtar had been closeted with his two scouts. They had reported seeing a good sized party of travellers heading south and west over the broad plain the locals called East Emnet. Both the scouts had agreed that the riders were ripe for the picking.

"Women, a column made up of women," one scout had increduously exclaimed, spitting crudely on the ground. "And the few men with them no more than children. I see one, maybe two, seasoned warriors....no more than that. We may deal with these fools hastily. There is no need to wait for nightfall. Get them just as they arrive at the rise, for surely they intend to camp there. We will have great pickings. Perhaps we'll run the men through with our blades and drag the women back to our lord in Mordor. Fine slaves they'll be, women as young and foolish as these." The scout rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the rich booty that such a gaggle of women would certainly command on the open market.

There had been no disagreement, and the plan was quickly hatched. Now they stood within a stone's throw of the hill, hiding on the far side. "Remember now," growled Calimehtar, "You're to encircle the hill as they are struggling to make their way up. Surround it from all sides that none may escape. When I give the signal, let the arrows fly. And after that we will go in with our swords. The muddy hill will be hard to manage, but remember that we have the advantage of surprize."

As the Easterlings saw the last of the small party of riders mounting the trail that led up to the oaks, the raiders drew their bows and shook them over their heads, letting out a combined howl that could be heard from nearly a mile away. Calimehtar cried out about the ruckus, "Forward then, leave none of the men alive. Skewer them with your swords. Throw the women over your saddles and bring them back to where Aliharmi waits at the top of the ridge. Then return to fight again. Alinarmi will guard over our living booty with his whips and prods."

With a savage cry, the band raced forward, hooves pounding hard against the wet earth. Wave after wave of arrows came streaking through the air, falling upon the heads of the small band of riders. Calimehtar was the first one to come roaring up the hill, heading straight towards those who had positioned themselves at the rear. He reached out with his sword threatening one of the riders and as lust for battle overcame him joined with one of the women in close combat. Leaning over, his fingers closed on the long hair of one of the female combattants....

[Nogrod]

A chilling cry filled the air, coming from all around them. It was followed by the regrettably familiar hissing noise that approached from somewhere up above; growing louder, slowly at first, but gaining both speed and volume, as it got nearer. Sythric went to grasp his shield quite automatically. That noise was almost instinctively tied to that action. The sky was pretty dark already, and made the approaching missiles practically invisible. As the sound of the arrows suddenly grew very violent, he managed to lift the shield to cover his body from the downpouring, lethal rain of arrows. Just before the shield cut his field of vision, he saw them coming towards them, from all over around. He heard himself shouting for “Cover!”, but that yell was overpowered by the ear-breaking whine of the incoming arrows. He heard someone yelling, but didn’t know, who it was.

Now the easterlings were clearly seen, coming on them from all the directions. Fifteen?... more, less?... Maybe two shots more. He had estimeted the distance between them. No more time to lose, he thought. The next pack is in any moment.

“Scatter around! Get away from each other!”, he shouted. “There’s not so many of them at the time, look for them! They will come from lower next time!” Byt the time he had gotten to that, the next pack of arrows was approaching. Sythric got eye on one that was coming quite straightly towards him. He lifted his shield, and hoped for the best. The impact never came, but the sound of the arrow, passing less than a yard to the left from him almost deafened his ear for a moment.

“One more round coming! After it, make a circle!”, Sythric yelled amidst the chaos and tumult of the horses. He heard, that someone else had also shouted something, but couldn’t make the message out. Suddenly he saw Brand some ten yards away from him, and called him. “Brand!... Brand! Those one’s coming down on us! From the ridge! Would you ride with me against them, to take the worst blow? We will have to slow those down!” If Brand answered, Sythric didn’t hear it, for the easterling cry was on the air again, louder as before – and the thunder of their horses coming towards them with almost full speed sounded frightful indeed. And there was the third pack of arrows, coming almost horizontally now, as they were shot only from under hundred yards away.

The shriek of an oncoming arrow was one of the most frightful noises he knew of. So haphazard, so random was the possibility of getting hit, or avoiding it. As a true rider, Sythric thought of them as kind of unfair weapons. You didn’t have to prove your qualities fighting eye to eye, just let your lethal missile do it for you from secure distance. And you gave your opponent just the hope, that luck would be at your side. No arrow flew even near Sythric this time.

The sound of easterlings changing weapons some fifty yards away, was just as chilling as the noise of the approaching arrows. The soft ringing of the almost simultaneos unsheating of swords from all around them was quite unnerving. Sythric picked his spear and yelled as loud as he could: “In to a circle, in to a circle!” While shouting, he was already making Thydrë to start uphill. He had no time to look for Brand, as he saw the easterlings coming towards, too close already. He spurred Thydrë to make all the speed she could with that short distance, rushing straight towards the avalanche that was rolling down the hill on upon them.