[piosenniel]

Rôg sat in on a chair near the back of the room, massaging his left arm as he listened to Luindal talk. Search the shoreline? Rôg sighed with weariness at the thought of making that exertion. And sooner than expected, he thought, as the Captain spoke with some sense of urgency about preparing to leave in the morning. His eyes strayed about the room for any sign of Freyn. He would need another poultice applied to his arm before the company left on the search and perhaps a small quantity of that dried root to chew on . . . the one that eased the pain.

Luindal, he though, had finished speaking, Rôg stood up from his chair and made for the door. The captain’s final remarks though, made him stop and turn a frowning face toward him. What was all this about something unusual or suspicious . . . it was so vague a description, and yet the Captained seemed so eager for news of it . . .

Those gathered in the room moved uncomfortably in their seats - their heads craning this way and that to see who might have some understanding of what the Captain had said. There were many who shrugged their shoulders, and knowing they had naught to add stood to make their exit. There was one, though, one of the Lossoth, he thought, on the far side of the room who seemed to be nodding yes as Luindal made his request. He could not see who it was as he was swept out the door and down the hall by a group of Elves speaking eagerly of tomorrow’s undertaking.