[Tarien Ithil]

Rinoas Imrith puffed on the fifth pipe he'd had that day.
He scopped up some dirt in his palm and sifted it through is fingers. The sky was dark and star-spangled. Crickets chirped.

Rinoas' tent was erected beneath a tree. A lamp, hanging on a branch, was burning faintly. The murmur of soft chatter was all around the campsite.

Tarannon walked up carring a clay bowl of soup.
"Thank you," said Rinoas, and he took the bowl.
"So, where do you come from?" asked Tarannon.
"Gondor," replied Rinoas and sipped the soup. "What about you?"

"Dunedain. My mother was from Gondor, though," he replied.
The sky suddenly rumbled.
"Looks like a storm," said Rinoas.
"I'd better go to my tent," said Tarannon.