[Arry]

Come! It will not help Lord Ereglin if you speak any further.

Gaeredhel urged his brother out of the entrance and away from the Captain’s tent. He feared the Captain would harden his less than favorable opinion of the Elves and attempt to keep them from helping in the rescue attempt at all. Angore, at least, had placated the man somewhat, or so he thought. If he could redirect his brother’s anger it would be all for the best.

Rôsgollo was quiet as they walked back toward their tent, his mind racing. He was already chafing at the idea they would need wait for the Captain and his 'skilful' trackers. Lord Ereglin had been injured. Who knew what further things the Orcs had done to him with their filthy hands and weapons. Or would do with each space of time now passing. He stopped, forcing his brother to a halt also. ‘There is no reason we cannot assist the trackers. The signs of the Orc troop’s passing are fresh. Let us follow them. One of us can always circle back to bring the Dunedain troops forward.’

‘And what of the young one?’ Gaeredhel asked, nodding toward the drowsing child his brother held in his arms. ‘He can’t be left to fend for himself when we leave. And certainly you won’t be bringing him.’

Rôsgollo said he had already thought of that. He bade his brother get ready their horses and gear, saying he would see to Gilly. He would ask the women with the young child he had met if she would watch Gilly while he was gone.

‘And what of Angóre?’ Gaeredhel asked as he turned toward their tent. ‘See if he wishes to come with us,’ Rôsgollo called back over his shoulder as he hastened off.

Around them, they could hear the guardsmen making their way through the camp, rousing the soldiers to readiness . . .