[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor then took to tracking the expedition through the woods, spent wiht grief and the wound ever sapping his strength. He had little hope to catch up to a horseback company in such a state. Indeed, Ferethor would have fain laid himself down and embraced death as a welcome relief if his pride and stern will did not drive him on. So it was that he stumbled upon the camp, utterly spent, as the morning dawned.

Ferethor was fevered and his will almost swooned to the darkness, and he wandered long in the shadow of his thought. But the fire of life was hot still in this youth of Gondor, or fate spared him yet for another day. He was aroused from the stupor of his dark imagination by the beaming sunlight gleaming through the thick canopy of trees that overhung the glade and the wavy motion of the dew-besprangled leaves of green and silver that danced in the gentle breeze.

"It is well to see you return to your strength, Ferethor." Aelimur cam up and clasped the shoulder that was not heavily bandaged as ferethor sat up. Idruil smiled, saying "If Atharen here had not some skills of healing at need, dark would have been your future." Ferethor glanced at Atharen, who merely shrugged and said "Grievious indeed would have been your loss, Ferethor of Gondor, we have yet much more peril to ovecome." Then he broke into a half-hearted smile, rare indeed for him.

Ferethor realised with dismay that they had stayed their travel to wait for him to rise, and his chagrin and pride made him rise to his yet unsteady feet. "But we have more then forty leagues to cover if we are to reach Ithilien by nightfall. Let us make haste!"