[Ithaeliel]

It was late morning, and the three had been traveling nonstop since the first star flickered out of the sky. Ender strode between and slightly in front of Calentoliel and Rothalle. Her eyes continuousy shifted from one side to the other, although not suspensefully. The birds sang in the trees and the air was sweet with the scent of the native plants that grew in the Weather Hills, and it was mingled with the scent of rainwater. "We should look for a shelter before dusk," Ender told her companions. "I smell the rain."

Any mortal can smell a storm before it happens. As elves have much keener senses than men, they can detect it from a far distance. As for an elven ranger, the scent is so strong (although not unpleasant) that it acts as a regulator; one twinge of difference can tell them what is near, even if they are blinded by night.

In this case, barely a thin line of black cloud had peeked over the horizon when Endereth stopped short. Rothalle and Calentoliel turned to her nervously. "What is coming? Is it the beast?" asked Calentoliel.
"No, it is not the beast. That is too far in front of us." Ender took a whiff of the air. "It's a white deer, and it's coming ever closer from behind. If it comes within sight, we must not threaten it. That will bring us bad fortune."
The travelers sat motionless beneath a tree as the deer crossed in front of them. It was a tall, graceful doe, and as she came in front of Calentoliel she stopped, turning her head and looking at the bard with glassy black eyes. Calentoliel stared back, confused as to what this could mean. Suddenly the doe fell onto her side. Ender stood up, drawing her sword quickly and looking about. When she saw no one was around, she turned back to the deer. She was alive, trying to lift her head. "Calentoliel, she was looking at you. Go see if you can't find what's wrong with her."