Rûdhchamion felt the warmth of the mid-morning sun from behind his close eyelids. The breeze whispered softly its song, several wrens were nearby chirping their greeting to the new day. He opened his eyes to find Anarya nearby, her head down upon her elbows and her eyes closed, her honey-colored hair softly caressed by the wind. They had only been resting a few hours since Legolas left them.
He had been in deep thought. What was waiting for them south? Eager as he was to face the slayer of his people, rushing headlong would be a sure death. The dark elf did not wish even one foul orc to escape and see another day, but there was more to this than the death of his kin. It was a mystery that haunted him still. Why were they killed? He knew no reason, but he swore he would find out.
There was also young Anarya. He would have to proceed with more caution, he was not alone in the hunt any longer. He would not be able to forgive himself should any harm befall one so gifted.
And there was the matter of the words of Thranduil. Something was stirring south. He sighed, why hadn’t he had enough sense to ask Legolas the Elvenking’s worries? But it was unlikely the prince would have told him. At least not yet. He doubted this would be the last time he would see Thranduil’s halls, nor the Elvenking's son.
He heard a squirrel’s familiar chattering. As he looked up, it landed on his leg. He couldn’t help chuckling.
“Haven’t had a meal yet, I take it, little friend,” he smiled, taking a nut form his hip bag and handing it to the small creature. Looking up after a few moments, he saw the elf maiden looking at him curiously.
"I hope you've rested well, Young Anarya. Soon our hunt will begin." Rûdhchamion looked towards the direction the man, Micanar, had gone. His smile had faded, a determined look was on his face.
[ May 17, 2002: Message edited by: Thalionyulma ]
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