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Arathorn went to leave, and stepped away, to speak to the Lord Elrond. Hanindur looked around at those who were to be his companions. Five men, and five elves, himself included.
Hanindur sat down, much like he had sat earlier, beneath the wind-shook trees. And the day was fair and calm still, though a cloud shadowed over the sun, dimming the light a small bit. Shadows seemed to creep from beneath them, though Hanindur knew that it was but an illusion.
A slight wind rustled the branches, and the trees seemed to whisper in the wind; the day was a fine day, and a fine day to set out from Rivendell, the day was worthy of their leave-taking, though Imladris was a lovely place to be on such a fine day.
The clouds drifted apart, setting light once again over the whispering trees, and it's fair beauty seemed to make Rivendell look even fairer then before. The elven kind was lucky to be able to dwell within such a lovely location. It was not the fate of the Rangers to sit in one place for long.
Hanindur studied the faces of his fellow Rangers, Beroth he knew, for they were, as Arathorn had said, his most trusted Rangers. And by sight, he knew Paladir as well. The other two were not known to him, though there was a familiar feel to all the Rangers, as, in a manner, they were his kin.
The elves too, some he knew, others, not. Being that he had spent much time in Imladris, many of the elves were familiar to him, though not always did he know their names, as to their faces.
The others talked quietly, but Hanindur tended to be silent, a quieter person. So he sat on the green grass, and looked around at the others, burning their faces into his memory.
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