[maikafanawen]

Dûrvagor woke to the ray of sunlight streaming in through his open ten door. He rose and stretched, yawning away his peaceful sleep. The ranger poked his head out of the door and looked at the sun. It had just peaked over the eastern hills and was spreading its light across the sight.

“Oh good,” said Dûrvagor, “I’ve not slept in.” He paused, rethinking what he had just said and shook it away, dressing quickly in a clean linen shirt and a gray jerkin embroidered with blue designs on the seams decorating the front, bottoms, sides, and wings. He had a bit of trouble pulling on his boots and then realized it was because he had stuffed stocking in the foot of each. It was another five minutes before he was fully dressed, and the correct weapons and pouches hung from their correct places on his belt, and a cloak draped stylishly over his broad shoulders. Grabbing his two bags and blanket roll, he walked out of his tent and whistled for Pernolë. The white horse came stepping up from the stream to his master.

Dûrvagor finished with Pernolë, and walked lazily over to the lodge. Elleraden and Aravir were already inside, eating hearty breakfasts.

“Good morning,” said Dûrvagor, as he joined them holding a smaller version of their morning meals and a mug of herbaceous tea.

“Got your horse all saddled up and packed,” said Elleraden looking out at Pernolë who was standing awkwardly trying to figure out what was on his back and why. Dûrvagor glanced towards his horse and then back at his friends.

“Hmm? Oh, heh, that horse. No, I—I haven’t a clue what you—yeah, yeah all set. Th—that’s my horse.” He sighed dramatically adopting a nostalgic expression and then tucked into his breakfast.