[Amanaduial the archer]

"Truce, I will not speak of it again."

Maen's firm dismissal of the subject made Atharen glance at her quizically, even though he was used to irony. But a slight grin twitched at her lips as she slid her eyes across to his face, and he gave an almost inperceptible half-smile. "Ah, Lady, I will try to restrain myself in the future obviously - whirling swords in the middle of the night against fair maidens on vicious little ponies-" he sidestepped his horse deftly here as Hittai seemed to understand, then continued, "-is of cours in my nature but..."

Maen glanced sharply at the ranger as if not sure if he was mocking her, then laughed, and Roryn joined in. Atharen gave another thin smile, then turned back to his thoughts of his companions as he rode.

Despite being half-Rohirrim and having the love of riding that comes from an upbringing among the Rohirrim, the ranger had not at that time actually got a horse - hence the reason that, when Crystal had met him he had been trudgings grimly through ankle-deep mud in the rain. The horse he thought of as 'his own' now belonged, technically, to one of his younger male cousins, a boy of about nineteen and the son of his mother's youngest brother. Namathir was a good boy though, and an excellent rider - a soldier, as followed the family tradition, but he did not treat Atharen as abnormal despite the fact his older cousin only looked a few years older than he himself although he was over a decade older - Atharen was glad his fine, powerful stallion had gone to such an owner, although Namathir let Atharen ride when ever he visited, although such occasions were sadly getting rarer as the ranger travelled ever farther afield. Still, the horse he had borrowed would almost match up to his old stallion - probably did, in fact, but that ranger was obviously inclined to look back on his first steed with somewhat rose-tinted glasses - it was also a stallion, but bay where Namathir's horse was bay, standing at nearly eighteen hands, but not appearing to be incredibly muscly. It was built for speed, a creature of careful breeding, of that there was no doubt, although Atharen was not sure it was entirely Rohirrim as it's looks would first suggest - it's more angular face and black, slightly more slanting and narrower eyes would suggest some trace of Haradrim breeding.

As they set up camp, Atharen tethered his horse carefully with the others, then set to rest. But his thoughts kept him awake for some time as he mused upon his companions - despite having far more knowledge and material on some, he dwelt on most of them though. An odd group, especially led as they were by a woman of high breeding who intended to fight and kill a blood-relative of hers. But stranger things had been seen from and in Gondor over the years, of that there was no doubt. Soldiers and rangers, travellers and women, exiles and outcasts...the ranger's eyes smiled dryly although they remained fixed on the stars; a fine companionship indeed.

Atharen heard the noise of a someone moving, but by the way the man approached him from the front, his footsteps casual and familiar, Atharen guessed it before he saw the other's face to be Roryn. His eyes flicked to the other man's, opening from the slits he had let them rest as so they widened to allow the man's face into his spectrum of stars. Roryn opened his mouth, holding up a hand, but Atharen realised what he was going to say before he actually said it as he straightened suddenly, straining his sharp sense of hearing. He turned quickly to Roryn and realised the man had heard already.

Roryn nodded confirmation then murmured, "We should leave swiftly, just wokens are an easy target...and the Valar know Atharen we killed enough bandits for them to hate us..."

Atharen paused, then listened again. Yes, there was certainly a group moving their way, and through the wood rather than on the path. Moving slowly and quite far off still, but quietly - stealthily. He nodded. "Yes...we must move on swiftly...and cover the ashes of the fire..."

Sliding over to Crystal, he came to kneel about a foot from her shoulder, strapping on his sword quickly with practised ease. "Lady Crystal?" he murmured softly, trying not to startle the woman and careful not to touch her. "My lady?"