[Bêthberry]

Air as sharp on the lungs as pin pricks greeted the pursuers as they headed out the gate, watched by a grimly-faced crowd, and into the Barrowfield, through the barrows of the kings. No one was easy knowing that thieves had entered into the very heart of their city; nor were any calm in the knowledge that these riders would return with the stolen horses. Yet the theft could not go unchallenged.

Deorlin and Hading, the two Riders of the Mark to accompany the group, had compiled what news was available from those who had any inkling of what had happened. Some said it was Easterlings; others, Dunlendings; still others claimed they saw their own people sneaking out the gate. All they knew was that one man lay dead and his family in mourning, ten horses were gone, and strangely scuffed tracks wended out and down the hills towards the east. It would take good, strong eyes to see if the thieves had dared to take the Great West Road, or if they headed north towards great Fangorn Forest or east along the River Snowbourne.

Six rode out. Deorlin led the group, with Anglachel at his side, for the Merchant knew the roads and trails beyond Rohan better than any. They were followed by Ælfritha on Nithal with Doric as a pack horse. Malienna and Izrênna paced either side of Ælfritha, for the three women, near in age, had struck up a quiet conversation while they waited for the dawn to rise, although Ælfritha noted some slight tension between Izrênna and Deorlin. None smiled nor joked. Hading, the youngest Rider, took up the rear. Six people, eight horses, to recover ten lost.

Once past the gate, they began to ride in earnest, yet not hard, until they could determine for sure where to follow.

Finally, Deolin called out, "The Trail! The trail leads east. To the River Snowbourne." As if all with one accord, the riders moved at once into a fast gallop.