[Susan Delgado]

Findereg was so buried in his own thoughts that he did not at first hear the Imladrian speaking. When he did, he looked around, catching sight of the others' Mannish bickering behind them and grimacing. Certainly the death of one of their fellows should have more of an effect on them!

"Thank you, Thaurbar. He perished in our defense, and such a noble deed should not go unrewarded." He pulled out his wine bag and offered it to his companion. "Let us drink to his honor and his eternal life in the Undying Lands. Namarie, friend Elantar."

"Namarie," Thaurbar echoed, and they drank.

As they raised their drinks to their lips, the light suddenly brightened and the trees thinned. From here, it was only a few hours' ride to Esgarath. As the travellers passed the last tree of the Mirkwood and entered the plains, a warm breeze blew and brought along the sweet invigorating scent of trees and flowers. It was as though the forest was bidding them farewell in its own special way. Findereg and Thaurbar were riding ahead of the train and there was quite a distant between them and the next rider. The Sindar thought for a moment and brought up something else that had been bothering him.

"Friend Findereg, the reason for my discourse with the Atani was that I found it confounding that she would had encountered orcs and survived. From my experience, that has never been the case,"

Findereg listened intently and beckoned Thaurbar to continue.

"The orcs that attacked her turned south some fifteen miles ahead of the direction we are facing, and they were accompanied by horse riders. It is my conclusion that the child's life was spared by the grace of these riders whom I believe hold sway over the will of the orcs. For what reason I cannot say."

Findereg's brows knitted and he replied in a grave tone, "Your deductions are dark, rider from Imladris. Who do you think were these companions of orcs?"

"Easterlings ride not into these regions, Findereg. And no orc would obey them no matter what. I detect no aura of evil from the tracks so it cannot be the Nine. So I can only guess that they were Morn-Dúnedain."

"The Edain you speak of are formidable," Replied Findereg, "Their skills in sword and tracking are comparable even to yours. But their numbers have dwindled much after the Black Years. The enemy would not employ their services so openly."

"Which brings us to the reason why I am here: Findereg of Mirkwood, the White Council believes that the enemy has returned. Every day he gathers his power and strength. The presence of the Morn-Dúnedain is but a speck in the scheme he now weaves. I have told you what I can, will you now tell me what you know?"

Findereg considered for a moment. "I know relatively little about the world outside Thranduil's wine-cellar. I have sensed, as every Wood-Elf has, the darkness rising in the South, but I have not been privy to Thranduil's private councils. Personally, however, I believe you are right. There is nothing that causes such darkness as is now descending on the Greenwod as the Dark Lord himself. We know he was not utterly vanquished; only hidden until he regained enough strength to rise once more to power. I have discussed it with Luinlathome, my wife, and she feels the same. It will soon no longer be safe to make these journeys to Esgarath."

[ February 07, 2003: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]