On Patrol (Continued from Let's Go to the Prancing Pony)

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel looked up at Naaramare.

"N'uma, diola lle, amin istimen sai no' i'malle' sinai cyrenair wanwie (No, thank you, I learned much one the road these years past)," Menelduliniel said, "Nan' manka lle caelos lanne'...(But if you have cloth...) amin anton tanya ten' i'herwai (I need that for the wounds)."

She watched as Naaramare got her some cloth, as she pressed on Estelarion's wound.

"Diola lle (Thank you)," Menelduliniel said, "I'harwa n'naant i'gurth en'Estelarion (The wound will not be the death of Estelarion)."

Menelduliniel bound the wound tightly and held Estelarion's head in her lap, still sitting by the side of the road. As she sat, she quietly drew Tinuanar, letting the bright glow of the burning blade comfort her. She held the knife to her side, concealing it, and stroked Estelarion's unconscious head with the other hand. She looked at the others preparing for a battle that she knew not what with. And who had saved them? And what had happened?

Menelduliniel felt dizzy, but decided that none should know, lest they not let her do her share. She took a rag that she had not used, and wiped the blood that had trickled down her face away. She sighed, and looked around, looking for Amanroch and Salkadome. She whistled, and Salkadome came trotting up, followed by Amanroch. The two seemed to have been left unhurt. She stroked Salka's face as he brought it down to her on the ground.

She sat there, with the horses helping to guard Estelarion, with her knife out, ready to battle if need be...