[Arvedui III]

The wind blew lightly, carrying away dust stirred up by a company riding south. Rangar felt very much at ease in the staddle of his new black mount. As the weeks passed and grasslands began to appear, the mood of the company lightened and Rangar sensed himself smiling most of the time. This was the way he had hoped to start the journey, light at heart with a hopeful goal. But, maybe it was just the power of the horse-lands. For, in his mind, nothing was better then riding in Rohan. The rest of the company also seemed to be at ease if not exactly thrilled with horses; And though Rangar still opted to be less than verbose, he no longer felt guilty about not talking to anyone. They know me well enough now. Maybe it was best this way, we've all gotten to know each other, or at least one way.

After two weeks of riding, the company saw a break in the mountains and set up camp just outside of the Gap of Rohan. As night fell, and Rangar was just about to take his first spoonful of soup, he felt Turthol taped him on the back. "Come here for a second." He whispered, and Rangar was taken aback by the note of urgency in his voice. He got up, and followed his friend to where the horses were grazing. Turthol began stroking his mount, and Rangar blinked. "Um, what's this all" "Rangar." Turthol interrupted, and again, the harshness of his voice surprised him. "Yes." "I found out why that man is looking for you." A tremor rose through Rangar, and his muscles twitched slightly. "Well?" Turthol gulped. "Apparently, you murdered his kin." "WHAT?!" The hardy conversation of the company a few feet away stopped abruptly, and only the chirping of a cricket was to be heard. Rangar again felt like a bumbling idiot, but after what seemed like an age of awkward silence, Bregand started talking about whatever he was talking about again.

Rangar didn't notice, nor did he care. Numbness overtook him. Murdered, but, why? An all too familiar stab of shame hit him. Turthol must think that I, "It's probably not true, but I just thought, well, you should know if someone's, well, yeah." Rangar couldn't see Turthol's face as he walked away, but by the sound of his voice he knew that his friend had been shaken by this, and maybe, near believed it. All the recent gladness left, replaced by the shame and guilt and fear Rangar almost always carried with him. Murder, it's probably true. The blood, that man, the dream. All true, why wouldn't it be? Maybe it would be better if I didn't know, but then, they all trust, oh, nevermind. Deal with it later.

The next day Rangar was as silent as before, but smiled no longer. No one seemed to notice, and Rangar was glad of that. Turthol would understand, and the rest didn't need to know why he was frowning. At about mid-day a small town came into sight over the horizon, and many voiced the hope of an inn as excellent as the one at Tharbad had been. Though Rangar's current morbid sense of society bade otherwise, he smiled and joking asked aloud who wanted to be the waiter this time, and then lead the group into Rohan.