"Handled well my friend," said Taradan with a weak smile. "But I fear this affair of violence and grief has worn me out, and my strength has not yet recovered. It will be a hard journey for me on foot. So now I bid you goodnight, and go to rest now," he said with a sigh.
Taradan limped over to his tent, which he was sharing with Dwarin. The stout dwarf was already asleep, his beard rising and falling with his breath. The sight amused the weary rider as he lay down on the hard ground. He took off his cloak, and rolled it up to use as a pillow, and soon was dozing off. His last thoughts concerned the unknown maiden he had seen battling, and...was Baranthol really a man, or was he really a woman?
[ February 21, 2002: Message edited by: Theodred21 ]
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Rohan
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not whither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.
-The Riddle of Strider
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