[Kransha]

Idruil again sat nestled in the saddle of Ecthelion again, leaning forward and looking out in front of him and the group with cold, focused eyes. The horse’s bouncing along the rough terrain was severely subdued by the solemn demeanor of the rider, who steadied it and goaded it forward with more composure and reserve. He wheeled the low-headed steed through the ranks of his companions, over viewing them as he had already done so many times. The man of Minas Tirith looked pensive between the haunches of his mount. He took a deep breath and leaned back, reclining against the rear end of the saddle and contemplating.

Things were technically going well, despite the loss of Delphinious. The other thought dead had returned and many of his comrades seemed to have to dark shroud lifted from them, especially the girl Crystal, who was riding just in front of him on the horse of the ranger, Atharen. Idruil was not entirely contented, but he felt that he was still content enough, more so than some members of the company. The loss they’d felt in Delphinious was simply not as apparent to the man as he kicked his horse into a faster pace to pass Atharen’s steed and then slow to let it catch up with him. As he philosophized inwardly, the two horses soon ended up cantering along side by side. In a vague and weak attempt to get a conversation going amid the dreary atmosphere, Idruil goaded Ecthelion towards Atharen’s mount until he was directly flanking it. He looked past Crystal, who sat behind the ranger, to Atharen himself and spoke.

“You are certainly a dauntless man, Atharen ranger, and courteous as well. I must admit, having never met a ranger in all my days, I had not expected one to be so….so courageous and level-headed. The stories I was told of rangers in Pelargir made them out to be much more stubborn and chauvinistically righteous than you are. As a former soldier of Gondor, I can rightly say that I am glad to know a man in which all the chivalry of the last age still lives.”

He turned slowly from Atharen, noting in his mind that Ferethor was also oddly like that, but in a different way. The man’s eyes shifted down again, examining only the ground in front of Ecthelion’s bobbing muzzle as he wondered if the ranger would respond or not. His heavy eyelids were drifting closed, but he promptly realized it and the shot back open, blinking several times before settling back into their gaze.