[Nevtalathiel]

Girion grumbled as he was ordered around by Bram. He hated the boat. His room was small and dark, not up to the standard he was used to. Even in the wood, he had felt there was space about him, a high room of rustling leaves and an unbounded room. Here, he felt like a caged animal, shut up in a boat which prevented him from sleeping and where he was forced to obey the orders of a man he was growing to detest.

The work required no mental effort, for which Girion would once have been thankful, but he found that after his recent diplomatic efforts, such menial tasks bored him. His muscles ached and his hands were alerady sore. He longed to be off the boat; somewhere where he could be in charge of his own actions. Even Rubin was too busy for him to talk to, but he was determined to get through the journey, if only to show Bram that he could.