The two elves had let the man move further ahead; it had been several days now since they started trailing Micanar. The dark elf wanted to make sure that they could see every direction the man may take. The mortal had met with a group earlier and was moving southward once more. Rûdhchamion and Anarya kept to the shadows of the trees and avoided open glades. They kept silent, and only signaled to one another when needed.
He noticed a slight change in demeanor in the young elf maiden, a self-consciousness. He wanted to ask but thought better of it, it would embarrass her surely. He was amused at times, and did not know why he was glad to have her on this journey.
Suddenly he felt a chill that seemed to grip him, and motioned for Anarya to climb a large tree nearby. Its leaves were thick enough to hide them both. He heard something that chilled him even more.
“What is it?” She whispered.
“Ssshhh. Listen, do you not hear the baying of the wolves?”
Anarya frowned, she could her the howling. “But it isn’t hardly evening yet.”
It was true. It was late afternoon, but the skies had turned cloudy and the mist was coming in. He swore under his breath.
“We must stay I fear, until morning. Keep alert, and be ready with your bow. We can trail them then. They too have stopped.” He indicated to the Micanar’s group.
When night came, so did the creatures of the dark. A group of hooded men walked past their tree. Similar to the ones when they had encountered Mornovarion and Tinuiel.
They kept as still as possible, holding their breaths as the strange hooded figures passed by.
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