Reynion packed lightly, knowing that elaborate clothing would be wasted in the forest and would be only a burden. Three sets of leggings, three tunics, all in his signature black, lembas, with dried fruit to supplement it. He didn’t think they’d be gone that long, but lembas for every meal every day did get tiresome. He carried a small leather bota at his waist, with a larger one hanging at his back, both full of water. He brought a cloak, also black, that could double as a blanket. That was all.
Well, he also brought his weapons. He wore his quiver strapped to the side of his pack, and had his bow slung across his shoulders. His short knives were strapped along the inside of his forearms, and his longknives were slid inside his boots. He hesitated a moment when he came to his sword, but he attached its sheath to his belt. He braided his long black hair in one long braid down the center of his back to keep it out of his way. He was ready.
He took one last look at the room he’d lived in since he’d left his flet in the forest. Almost, it had become a home to him, more than anyplace else here in the safety of the northern parts of Greenwood. Then he straightened, and strode resolutely out of the chamber. Perhaps he’d never see it again.
When he reached the meeting place, it seemed that, this time at least, he was not the last to arrive. He smiled a little at the elves who were already there. Some of them he only recognized from the council at which they’d volunteered. A few he could remember seeing in the forest. None did he call friend. Though, as he had no friends, that was unsurprising.
The young elf—Gilbereth was it?—appeared to be new to woodswork. The young elvenmaid, Arië, had been teasing him when they first met to decide when and where to meet before starting off about his clothes getting torn. From that, Reyn thought that Gilbereth might be something of a clotheshorse, which thought was enough to make him laugh and forget his father’s oh-so-warm farewell. The idea of trudging through brush and bracken in the sort of things most elves wore to court functions was highly amusing, though Reyn wouldn’t say that to Gilbereth. Well, not at the moment. He might use it later if Gilbereth complained about camping in the rough woods.
Another elvenmaid—Taurëwen, he thought her name was—looked much more prepared and comfortable. She was one he remembered seeing in the forest, though he took pains to avoid her as much as he avoided anyone else. She was one of the few in the group who looked old enough to go outside alone. The rest looked like they should still be home with their mothers to him. It would be interesting to see what she did when the young elves started making mistakes.
Last, he considered Ceros and Ihwesta. She was standing very close to him; was there attraction there, or was it only his imagination working overtime? Probably the latter. Living alone did do some strange things to one’s mind. Still, Ceros didn’t seem like the type to do any flirting on a trip this serious anyway, even if there was attraction. He’d heard that Ihwesta was a great tracker. Reyn hoped that the rumors were true, as his skills lay more in the hunting of beasts, things that couldn’t think and plan against you. What they would be up against probably could. And Ceros. He was very focused on this mission. Reyn rather thought that he would finish this if it killed him.
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