[Ealasaide]

Dusty and footsore, the young man had been traveling hard for what seemed like an eternity. He knew that he must be somewhere in the vicinity of Edoras, but since necessity had dictated that he avoid the main roads, he had gotten a bit turned around and wasn’t entirely certain where the city lay in relation to his current location. A compass and quadrant would have been helpful at this stage, but he wasn’t sure how much. After all, even aboard ship, navigation had never been his strong suit. Besides, it suddenly occurred to him, in order to get an accurate location, you had to have a clear view of the horizon. He was surrounded by trees. Lots of them. In fact, they were beginning to make him feel a bit claustrophobic.

He sighed and squinted up with very blue eyes at the thick canopy of branches over his head. He was sorely tempted to take a quick climb up for a look around but had a feeling that all he would see when he got there was more trees. Shaking his head, he chose a direction at random and started to walk. If it didn’t take him to Edoras, at least it would take him somewhere. He hoped. He was growing low on supplies and needed to find a town, a city, a berg. A house. Anything.

Besides simply being lost, he also had been hearing the echoes of a skirmish of some kind for some little while: shouts, the barking of dogs, and the intermittent clashing of swords. Although he had never been the jittery type, it set his nerves on edge. The fighting sounded close-by, but the trees had a way of bouncing the sound around so that he couldn’t tell precisely where it came from. As a matter of precaution, he drew his sword, carrying it loosely in his hand as he walked. While he had no idea who was fighting or why, he knew it was always better to be prepared to defend oneself, and never a good thing to be set upon by surprise with one’s sword safely sheathed at one’s side. Nonetheless, while he was a good hand with a sword, he had no desire to get in any more fights for awhile. After all, he was still reeling from what had happened in Belfalas.

“Talk about disaster…” he mumbled to himself. As result of that mishap, he was trying to put as many miles as possible between himself and the coastal city. Surely, they wouldn’t look for a petty smuggler this far north. Would they? Guards had been killed. Frowning, he shook his head. Surely not.

He was still pondering this thought when he rounded a bend in the trail and nearly stumbled over the body of a man, freshly slain, his blood still glistening dark and liquid in a pool under his wounded torso. Curious, Elián gave him a long look and decided that the fellow must have been an outlaw or brigand of some kind, judging by his coarse look and the state of the beat-up sword that lay in the dirt just beyond the reach of the dead man’s stiffening fingers. But, Elián guessed, he had likely not been killed by other outlaws, as the fellow still had his purse attached to his belt.

Unable to resist temptation and being a bit short on funds himself, Elián bent over and, with a deft slice of his sword, severed the man’s purse strings. He tossed the purse into his own shoulder bag, figuring he would look at the contents later. In the meantime, he thought it best to keep moving. Whoever had killed this fellow probably was not far off. In fact, the sounds of dogs and human voices suddenly seemed very near indeed.