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Éomeléo lazed by the great oak tree and watched the last vestiges of sunlight diminish. It was a lovely night. He wondered if Valesseka had followed him west. He supposed she would. He wondered also where the other competitors were, and whether they took less rest than he did. Frowning slightly, he realised that this was very likely.
The time passed and Éomeléo felt a surge of foreboding. He gripped his sword and looked into the distance. He had the feeling that hostility was approaching. Sure enough, he heard a sound to his right. Turning around he spotted the Arnorian girl marching towards him, a slightly mad glint was in her eye. Éomeléo could hardly believe that someone would not be smiling at the sight of his friendly face.
He stood up, swinging his sword around as if he were practising his strokes; he was actually a little bit nervous.
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