Herevion watched everybody grabbing their bags, running to go, saddling up their horses, with a sense of great indifference. All of his things he had readied at night, so as not to have to scurry among the other men, looking for lost belongings or just trying to get them onto his horse's back. Thoron stood ready for him to climb on at any point.
Herevion stepped through a path among the others, keeping out of their way, but not in a meek way at all. He reported to Islist quickly, not looking around at anybody else. He walked straight to his horse, Thoron, patted him on his back, turned around, and stood leaning against a wall, seeming not to see any around him, and wearing a strange expression on his face, half away in the dream world, half arrogant but still polite boredom, until Islist called for them all.
[ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: GaladrieloftheOlden ]
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"Glue... very powerful stuff."
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