[Arvedui III]

No one cried as the two bodies were given to the sea. Rangar ignored whatever comforting words were said. It didn't matter to him anymore. He'd never quite understood prayer or faith, or how that would help Turthol and Aerin now. Begging Mandos, or whoever, to aid them seemed only to comfort the living, and since Rangar saw no tangible signs that any of it worked, he dismissed it, dwelling only on his friends as they were in life.

That afternoon, Ani Dao asked him about landing, and whether he wanted to wait until they had sailed past Umbar. The king has returned, we can risk Umbar He told her they needed to get ashore as soon as possible, and so the company began gathering their things as the ship headed inland. Rangar had very little of his own, so he set upon shouldering Turthol pack as well, save two things which he felt needed to be carried by someone else. As luck would have it, Wren came in just as he was wondering what to do. "Hullo." "Hi." "What, um, are you going to do with Turthol's things." She asked softly. "Keep them. But, there is something I think is yours in here."

He took off the sack and pulled out Turthol's jacket from his day as a nobleman, note still attached. "Here" He said, handing it to Wren. She nodded, and began to fold it up, but before she could, something fell out and onto the floor. "His fife." Wren whispered as she picked it up. "Yeah," Said Rangar in as an offhanded manner as he could manage. "I can't play the thing, so you can have it too." "He'll want it back though." Wren said, brows furrowed. She still hopes. "Well, you can give it to him when you meet again. I'd lose it." He said, hoping she couldn't read the wave of sadness that passed over his face. Then, to change the subject, "Dunno about you, but I'm getting out of this blasted cabin." He said, and walked out.

When he came on the deck, he found most of the company already gathered, the captain and crew fussing over a missing jolly-boat, or something. But, in the end it didn't really matter. After about ten minutes of preparation, the group got into three boats and rowed to shore. Harad was breathtaking. The land was harsh, heat from the sun seemingly bleaching all color from the terrain. Saffron cliffs loomed thousands of feet only to face the cruel lashes of the sea. And yet, it seemed shadowy somehow. There seemed to not be a speck of green, sand blowing softly between dunes in the distance. A dark place to live, but it does have a grim beauty to it. Rangar thought as he stepped ashore, glad that he stood and dry land once more. And dry this place most definitely was.

Now, where to begin? It took some time to get oriented. The ship was to stay at anchor for a week to do repairs from the storm damage, and if they had not accomplished their goal by then, the company would have to chance a journey back on the Harad road. Rangar was bracing for the latter, taking as much water and dried food as he could. The other seemed to have done the same. The group formed up, and as the jolly-boats headed back to sea, began walking silently ahead. Surely, the seer could not be too hard to find?