[Durelin]

Targil, Evening

Thorvel was the first to take off, not surprising Targil. Thorvel seemed the trust the leadership of Calenvása much more than either Targil or the young Lómarandil did. And Targil was the only member of the troop that had reason to doubt the Captain's leadership abilities. Lómarandil simply tended not to think reasonably, and therefore could not reasonably mistrust Calenvása. Still, Targil never had been able to understand what Lómarandil thought of Calenvása. Perhaps it was time for a quiet talk with the young elf. It was good to know whom you fought with, especially in this case. He thought he understood Thorvel, but, staring blankly at the elf's back as he made his way quickly into the thick of the forest, he seemingly tried to see into the elf's soul. His thoughts were disrupted when the elf disappeared completely into the trees, and Targil then made his own way into them. He went another direction, of course.

Communicate...Targil would certainly communicate with his comrades, and happily give his opinion. They would not like it, though, as always. Calenvása just did not like to listen to someone who always found something wrong with him. Targil was almost completely sure that he knew Calenvása. Many times it was so simple to hear what the Captain was thinking. You could tell that the elf was not comfortable in his position, and did not like taking on his responsibilities. This was why Targil could not respect the elf enough to trust him. He knew that Calenvása had a good heart and a strong mind, but he had weaknesses that did not allow him to be a respectable leader. Targil constantly questioned his authority, not because he enjoyed seeing the elf overwhelmed with decisions and responsibility, but because he knew that every objection that forced Calenvása to handle it brought the Captain closer to being a true leader. The conversation they had just had had surprised Targil. Calenvása had truly stood up to him, this time. Perhaps it was the need that drove them all, finally finding a home in his heart. If so, Targil hoped it remained there to urge him on in the next few days. Leadership would be needed.

Targil quietly settled his body down in the forest floor. He crawled slowly into a large, leafy bush, stopping as soon as something could be soon. He had a pretty clear view in this position, and he was not going to risk adjusting or a more open spot for fear of discovery. Any elf could move silently around their forest homes, but a scout had to have the mind to know when not to try his skills. Targil worried about Lómarandil mostly because he was afraid that the elf was too rash, and too certain of his skills to take any of the precautions his life depended on. Targil sighed, regretting making any sound after he did so. The orcs near him were busy arguing, gurgling and growling grotesquely at each other. His sigh of tired sadness was quiet enough, but he was afraid to think for fear of being heard.

~

Calenvása, Night

Calenvása was just beginning to feel the muscles in his legs start to ache, begging to be given some kind of respite. He had been perched in this tree, knowing that any of the stronger branches would hold his weight. Still, he felt not at all as graceful as a bird that might perch there. High above the forest floor, he did not feel he belonged there. He felt so incredibly awkward that it was hard for him to closely observe anything around him. He had not shifted his feet more than an inch on the branch for the past few hours as he watched the darkness settle around him. It was deep now, but his eyes could see capably enough in the dark, and his hearing, of course, was not affected. What he had to remember was that orcs had very capable night vision as well. Perched in his discomfort, Calenvása felt considerably less graceful than a bird would look in his spot.

Dawn

Soft beams of light slowly began to filter through into the depth of the forest, and Calenvása welcomed their warm caress. They warmed his soul after a night in what had become such a cold place. It was his home, and so its evil was all the more chilling for him. He struggled to keep his heart warm with hope in such a moment. As the light gradually grew, he realized just how important it was that he kept hope. He began to realize how important his leadership could be. And it scared him, making him shiver more than the shadows that plagued his home did.

A great, roaring yell brought him out of his reverie of cold thoughts, and he scanned the scene before him. Another yell, this one sounding more human than animal, came. He could not make out what the various yells that followed were crying, but the rush and chaos that filled the army’s camp, with the cleaning up and packing up of gear, the angry yells at the attempt to organize orcs…the army was preparing to move.

Calenvása waited for many moments, watching the anarchy. Closest to him the air was quieter and calmer. A group of both orcs and easterlings were seemingly gathering very near to his tree. Perhaps dangerously near, though that was yet to be seen. They seemed to separate themselves from the rest of the army, and Calenvása could already see a greater amount of organization among them. He filed all this away to be thought about when he was safe; at least, a distance away from orcs, easterlings, and southrons, meeting back in the clearing with his troop.

Feeling that he had waited long enough, and seen enough, he slowly began to move, carefully maneuvering but still trusting the branch’s stability a bit too much. His legs now refused to move, stiff and sore, but finally numbed. His eyes were glued to the enemies assembled before him. It took Calenvása far too long to get onto the ground, and that was not the end of his fear and caution. Forcing his legs and arms to moved enough that he could drag himself across the ground on his belly, his mind already began to slip back into troubled thoughts. He worried about what Targil might have to say.