Ohtaredan frowned in concern as he walked out the door, into the cool mists of the night. He could not be sure of Herebrand, but everyone else seemed to be asleep, or set about their quiet evening tasks.
Worry still plagued him. There was sickness, wounds, unending trouble.
Ohtaredan stopped and looked behind him.
"Herebrand!" he called. He didn't know, was the man with him?
"I suppose I am alone..." he mumbled after a spell, turning back around and walking again.
He felt Gostanendoll's hilt against his side. He had put the sword to more use than ever yet, today. He shuddered inwardly, blinking in weariness in the dark. He just didn't feel cut out for this kind of work.
Not that he wasn't proud of the help he'd been today...protecting the people with Laurel and the others...but he missed his old way of life, as a blacksmith.
Just then, he heard a slight shuffling on the ground in front of him. He looked down instantly, seeing a slim, Elven form lying there. He bent down swiftly, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.
"Lanaey," he breathed.
[ June 18, 2003: Message edited by: The Ruling Ring ]
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" Where now are the Dúnedain, Elessar, Elessar?"
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