[Novnarwen]

Frôzhal had dropped dead. As he was about to grab his knife and end Erfâzh's pathetic life, he had discovered that it wasn't just a random Haradrim Erfâzh had been talking to, his mysterious friend was Jinan. The Haradrim's mouth fell open. He didn't even notice Jinan saying something to him, as two Gondorians were violently dragged and cast to the ground only a few paces away from where the three Haradrims were standing. Before the extremely surprised Haradrim was able to react, Erfâzh and Jinan had sprinted over to see the two prisoners. He cursed as he watched them. How could this happen? How could this happen to him? Was Erfâzh a friend of Jinan? What had they talked about? He let out a shriek, or rather he tried to, but his voice drowned in his own throat. He cursed again. By now, Erfâzh would have told Jinan everything, he could see it, by the fire in their eyes. "Traitor," Frôzhal muttered. However, perhaps he still had a chance of killing Erfâzh and perhaps the way of his clothing, but also the gash he had faked on his cheek, could make Jinan doubt what Erfâzh had possibly told him.

Disgusted by Erfâzh possible behaviour, (depending on whether he had told Jinan about how Erfâzh had been in charge during the attack or not,) he paced over to where the two Gondorains lay. He refused to give further thought to the situation he would find himself in, if this secret had been revealed; especially if the wrong people knew. Instead, he tried to enjoy the violence the two Gondorians went through. He laughed evilly, trying to get a glimpse of their grim faces. He heard Lan’kash growl, deciding that one of them should live. Frôzhal was amused by this. He wondered what the Gondorian, who would live, thought about this matter. He hoped, crossing his fingers, that the one who would be dead soon was a very close friend of the one who was going to live. Pain.. Pain.. he thought, his eyes sparkling.

As one of the filthy Gondorians was dragged by the Haradrim guards, Frôzhal used his opportunity to spit on the man. He didn't make a grimace, his face remained straight. Frôzhal didn't quite understand this reaction. Surely, it was odd. The Haradrim's, who were standing around the poor captive, had been showing him no respect whatsoever. Of course, the Gondorian couldn't demand it either, but why didn't he do anything; like spit back or curse? Was it not his character maybe? Frôzhal wasn't familiar with this kind of behaviour. Did all these Gondorian's act like this?

Frôzhal watched him, trying to read his mind. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything. His eyes were soft; humanly, greyish blue. He sent out this signal of being good, fearless, proud of his kind, and gentle. This, Frôzhal realised, was rare or unusual, at least among the Haradrim; who were hard, rough and proud but only proud of their own skills and accomplishments. Suddenly, out of the blue, he thought it stupid of him to spit at the Gondorian. It was out of place, it was gruesome. But even though he had done it, yet the Gondoiran kept his dignity by showing the Haradrim that he was different. The Haradrim's however, didn't realise this and continued their stupidity.

Frôzhal cursed. This Gondorian was bad news. He made the Haradrim think too much.