[Envinyatar]

Often Orëmir had ridden out from Imladris, into the foothills of the Hithaeglir to try his strength and skills against those of the granite and basalt bones of the mountains. It was good medicine for his time spent as a healer in the Rangers’ enclave. Suffering and death and the thought processes needed to hold them at bay could be put aside. Just the rock . . . the often tricksy rock, keeping its secrets from the climber. Just the rock and the fingers and feet and the narrow focus of one’s mind.

Orëmir looked up at the sounds of the commotion happening above. A frown creased his brow seeing the precarious rescue of Tasa by his brother and Malris. Old habits kicked in and he scurried up the slope as if he were an old rock lizard. ‘What a fool I was to let you go haring up here by yourself,’ he said in a breathless voice, half tinged with aggravation half with concern. ‘Let me look at those fingers of yours, you great ninny! And step back here, where the ledge is wider.’

Endamir gave his brother an abashed grin, offering his bruised and bleeding fingers up for inspection. ‘What did you think you were doing?’ Orëmir said through gritted teeth. ‘You might have fallen off the slope yourself . . .’ His words trailed off as he glanced from fingers to his brother’s raised brow at the little tirade. ‘Yes, I know I would have done the same,’ Orëmir said reluctantly. ‘BUT . . . I would have know exactly what I was doing . . . not just trusted to the slim hope of a narrowed crevice to hold me up.’ He shook his head, laughing in relief. ‘You’ve always been lucky, you know . . . graced by some special circumstance.’ He nodded up to the top where the others were now gathering, indicating his brother should start back up. ‘By the One, please don’t push past the limits of that luck of yours.’

When they reached the top, Orëmir opened his pack and took out his chest of remedies. He saw to his brother’s fingers and to Tasa’s scrapes and bruises. For the most part they were superficial and would heal quickly. Still he shivered a little in the sunlight as a fleeting thought rose in his mind that perhaps he and his companions were not welcome here. Once done he tucked the chest back in his pack and standing, noted Lindir hunkered down in a patch of tall grass. His pack was off his back and clasped closely to him.

‘Are you ill, my friend?’ Orëmir asked, seeing the odd look on Lindir’s face. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’