[Gryphon Hall]

[Gryphon Hall's Post]
The setting sun cast long shadows before them, yet they still trudged on. The sky before them was darkling, which did not do one bit of good to the already low spirits of Corrin. He sat dejectedly on the back of Léod, silent all throughout the ride. He would not speak, why should he! They left her, and he had been obliged to leave her. His honor and word obliged him.

But they left her! With only a wounded man to protect her. For what? 'Horses!' he thought furiously. 'Horses! The all important horses! We left a defenseless girl alone to get back horses, which may already be dead.'

He looked sadly at the others, then at Béowulf. I hope he is right. I hope the lad is right. How did it come to this? His thoughts turned unwillingly to a conversation that happened only hours before. . .

[Estel's Post]

We shouldn't have left her, thought Corrin, but it cannot be helped. I swore to hunt the thieves, so my oath binds me. The dwarf cannot help but feel angry: at himself and, strangely, at his fellows. Angry that they could not rest, angry that they could not catch up quickly, angry that they were no longer sure these thieves could be caught. But he was mostly angry at Léod, that arrogant son of a mare who is too proud to carry a-- no, not at the horse. His wrath lay elsewhere.

'Thinking that we should have stayed behind with Izrênna?' asked Béowulf.

'So what if I am!?' retorted Corrin but hastily added, 'Sorry, lad, I've been on edge since we crossed the Mering.'

'Everyone has been on edge, Corrin,' answered Béowulf, 'I feel the same way as you do.'

Ælfritha called out, 'Their tracks lead towards the Anduin. Everybody, mount!'

They all rode again in silence.

Some time has passed when Béowulf whispered to Corrin behind him, 'I do not understand, Corrin. Where do these cursed thieves come from? My éored espied Easterlings at East Emnet and these thieves are also probably Easterling. But how in the name of Helm did they get over the Anduin? It makes no sense at all!'

[Gryphon Hall's Post]
'Yes, it doesn't make any sense, does it. None of these make any sense! My heart is heavy, lad. Curse those thieves! May their losses be as grievious as ours, more! by the end of this cold and wretched endeavor.' Corrin was thinking what he would just do with some thief neck. Oh, yes! He knew exactly what to do.

Léod shifted uneasily. Béowulf looked uneasily back. 'Master Dwarf. . . Sir, please calm yourself. It doesn't do to be perturbed this way, especially if we expect battle soon.'

Corrin looked up at the rider, a retort ready, but stopped. 'Aye, if nothing else makes sense, you do lad. We are just too few. . . Why are we too few, Béowulf? Why? There could have been someone to stay with the poor lass. . . someone. . .'

'Worry not, friend,' said Béowulf. 'I don't think Izrênna and Deorlin will come to any more grief. I said worry not, sir! I forbode that doom follows the horses stolen, so it is we, the thieves and pursuers that will have the chief danger. You are needed here. We are needed here. And they both are needed here, but they fell but are not dead. Be thankful that she rests now far from where we will perhaps meet our deaths. Think no more of her!'

'How could I not?' thought Corrin. 'Father and I were wrong about poor Mother when we left her.' He squeezed his eyes shut, sadness threatening to overwhelm him.

Ælfritha gave a shout, signalling that they must go at a gallop now, one of many that must be made at intervals. They must close the gap before the river is reached, and all trace of the pursued is lost.

[Estel's Post]

The setting sun cast long shadows before them, yet they still trudged on. The sky before them was darkling, all the land was grey and still, particularly in the lowlands beside the Anduin, where cool mist covered much of the great river.

The pursuers were getting tense: once they were silent, but now each began to talk to their fellows in an effort to release the tension. Ælfritha spoke quietly with Maikadurion while Corrin and Béowulf whispered. Malienna and Anglachel remained silent.

Béowulf himself was worried sick about Izrênna and Deorlin. He remembered earlier failure to prevent Hading's death. Deorlin at least was alive. Béowulf dare not let Corrin know that he too was wishing to have remained with the stricken Rider and the maid. Honor constrained them both.

Riding just behind Ælfritha and Maikadurion, Béowulf could not help but overhear snatches of their conversation, softly though they spoke.

'No son of Théomer the Traitor will walk freely in that country until the true King returns. . .'

[ January 31, 2003: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]