Yanithë felt rather triumphant in her plan of sneaking the company out of Bree. She was so happy, in fact, that she almost felt she would squeel with delight, but no. After a few hours, it was back to business. Indeed Yanithë was glad that she could help. . .but the drunken man the Gate. . .she almost wretched to think of him. She was glad that she could hold her own. . .had she been anyone else. . .
But no, she was not anyone else, she was Yanithë, daughter of Pæwyn, and she would not forget.
Though I shall never know her again.
Yanithë had smuggled a few pieces of bread into a pouch on her belt (for she was clad in men's clothes). "Master Bali, I would be honored if you would take this," said she, handing the bread to him. "I know it may not suit, but I hope it will stay your hunger until we come upon some food."
She remounted her horse, riding beside Belegond.
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Did you leave that as a sign to follow us by?" asked Yanithe.
"Yes, incase there is a group without a Ranger. Hope fully they will have sense to pick it up."
"Why?", she asked, concern in her eyes.
"It is......was my fathers."
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"Then," responded Yanithë. "By all means, do not leave it. Let me see what I have-" She looked her person over, checking her pouch,and rumaging through other baggage on the horse.
"Ah!" cried she. "Here!" She held up a brooch in the shape of a horse. "Do not worry. It was a gift, and I'm sure he who gave it to me would not mind my using it to help my- my friends." She threw the brooch down without response, as if ridding herself of a burden. She then took a pin from her sewing pouch and pinned her cloak.
"And, my lord," said she in a low voice. "Everyone cries. It is a way to know you live." With that, she turned her head, and fiddled with a button on her clothes.