The night was quiet, much too quiet to Andros’ thinking. He looked across the flickering fire and saw his concern mirrored in Taradan’s eyes. They moved restlessly, as if seeking to discern what lay beyond the small circle of light that surrounded the two travellers. Their conversation had ceased, turning into an uneasy, listening silence, but no sound could be heard.
There should have been nightly noises, rustles among the trees and the scuttling of small animals in the brush. They had climbed steadily higher during the last days, and the snow-bedecked peak of Caradhras loomed large before them. Yet it was early enough in the waning year; they should have found some game to be hunted, or some birds to be shot for their nourishment. Instead, their supply of waybread and dried meat diminished, though they ate sparingly.
The howling of wolves some nights ago had chilled Andros’ blood, but its sudden cessation did not comfort him. He did not relish the memories of his past encounters with the wild beasts; they were enemies to be reckoned with. Yet a danger known was better than this nameless dread.
He was startled out of his brooding thoughts by the sound of Taradan’s voice. “Let us take turns at keeping watch this night,” his companion said. “I know not what I fear, yet I cannot sleep. I will wake you when your time comes.”
Andros turned restlessly under his blanket, but his discomfort did not come from the rough ground on which he lay. He was not usually given to dark thoughts, being of a calm and cheerful nature, yet it was long before he found sleep, and his rest was troubled by disturbing dreams.
[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
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