As he climbed the path, Elrohir mused upon the events of the past week. News of his mother's capture had filled him with such a rage of purpose that time seemed to have little meaning.
It was well that he and his brother were well versed with travel and stealth, for they could have expended little effort to preparing themselves for the immediate concerns, let alone preparing the others to cope with the situation.
His mind dwelt on the company, most had done well to waylay their fears and surivive. Yes, just survive. That wouldn't be good enough for the path ahead. Moria...
As Elrohir mulled over the quagmire, his horse had cimbed considerably. The terrain around them had transformed. He was in the middle slopes of the Misty Mountains. The loose gravel became dangerously slipperly as the untrodden paths were slated with frigid ice. Deciding to unburden his stallion, Elrohir dismounted and began walking in long strides, as his horse followed gratefully. What occured immediately to Elrohir was that this had definitely been a path once, if not anymore. The years had not yet eroded the ruts of feet.
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