[maikafanawen]

Dûrvagor patted Pernolë tenderly on the back before hoisting his saddle up on top of his blanket. He hummed light-heartedly to himself as he finished tying the necessary equipment to his horse and securing the rest of his things to endure during his absence. Then he mounted and rode over to where Islist, Elleraden, Tarannon, and Sorlas were waiting. He bowed his head slightly and waved as though they were far off. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep dramatic breath of air, grinning foolishly.

“Beautiful morning for a joy ride! Ah! Brought some apples and cheese for a picnic later should we decide to stop. No? Alright, they’re here if any o’ ye change your mind.” He glanced over towards the fields, streams, and forest before them and shook away a slight sense of foreboding before turning back to the others. “Where’s the rest of the stragglers?”

“Coming,” was the short reply from Sorlas. Dûrvagor sighed and picked an apple from the small sack in the front of his saddle. He took a big bite before looking up towards an oak where two birds were busily squabbling over nesting rights. Laughing, he pointed. The rangers lifted their eyebrows to where he gestured and then lowered their gazes again, some chuckling very slightly. He didn’t know why but none seemed to be very quick to make friends with him.

Birds of a feather flock together, was the old nursery rhyme saying. People don’t trust what they don’t understand was the one that went hand in hand with it. Dûrvagor was unlike all the other rangers, and most of them didn’t understand a bit about him or why he was full of childish levity. His duties as a ranger were noble and justified. The idiosyncratic personality of silent reverence was not present in his behavior, which was obvious in his style of dress.

Atop Pernolë in a greyish blue jerkin with embroidered silver trim, Dûrvagor could pass for a nobleman. His finely kept dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail that reached just between his shoulder blades. This was one of the two tasteful jerkins he owned; the rest were black and grey. When he entered the ranger’s unit, he had determined that he would probably learn to wear the regular clothes once he had broken into the daily routine of his kind. As the years passed, things hardly changed. Dûrvagor couldn’t find a reason why they should, so he always kept one or two jerkins to wear that would maybe imply that he was a bit more than ranger.

He leaned back in his saddle and watched the birds. Finally, they decided on which branch was who’s territory and began to build nests. It looked like a race to the ranger, each one flew frantically towards the ground, gathering as many oddities in its beak as it could before flying back to its designated place. The reason for such hurriedness was clear when a two rather drab looking birds of the same species returned just to reprimand their mates on their slow progress. Dûrvagor laughed out loud again and tossed his finish apple core to the ground. Eyes twinkling he turned as another of the rangers joined them.