From the tiniest crevice in a plain grey rock, a trickle of water dribbled onto the cold dirt below.
The blacksmith knelt, and touched his fingers to the trickle of water. Nethwador stood behind, and Erebemlin did not even turn his gaze towards the water.
Amroth's fingers, shining and cold from the icy water, came toward his face. With eyes closed, he savored the scent of the water, and then his fingers tightened into a fist, and Amroth stood.
This water would please her.
Nethwador smiled. He was exhausted. But then he turned southward and gave a shrill whistle.
Amroth also turned southward.
Echo, we have need of you, and your brethren. Come.
Avarien nodded. Roheryn, we stand upon snow no longer, but upon the gentle earth.
Amroth swayed, fighting exhaustion. Avarien was weaker still. Ravion spoke.
"Your mortal bodies need rest. Surely now we may wait for the horses to arrive?"
In answer, Amroth settled onto the cold earth, reaching one hand into the stream. Avarien sat a few paces away in the sunshine.
The rest of the men needed no further urging, but settled quickly onto the ground, hoping that the horses were at least a good nap's distance away.
Last edited by mark12_30; 03-21-2008 at 10:25 AM.
Reason: smiles. I always write in too many smiles. And nods.
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