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Ferethor paled and tensed suddenly. He could not detect any strange movement or sounds in the forest, but he felt instictively that they were being stalked by some unknown enemy. Rising to his feet uneasily, he noticed that Roryn and Atharen has also felt the invisible presence.
Seeing that silence was vital, Ferethor locked his gaze with Atharen without words. The sky was already pale and lit with twillight gleam for it was almost dawn, and he could distinguish the warning steely gleam in the ranger's eyes as well as the evergreen trees and the barren campsite. "We should leave, now." Atharen whispered to Ferethor, who lost no time in shaking others awake and preparing to leave.
Maen and others were only as yet half-awake when Ferethor woke them and told them to get ready and flee if they wanted to preserve their lives. "Wha, what?" But they quickly assessed the situation and started preparing with Ferethor's occasional directions.
A midnight ambrush? Ferethor swung himself over Apple fully clad as he thought in anger. It must be one of the Haradrim outlaw bands that roam barren wastes east of Anduin. But such stealth!
But when the red sun began rising over the horizon and stain the snow-capped peaks of mountains with forboding bloody hue, the company was already on the road, though there was come grumbling from the others.
Ferethor purposedly led his horse close to Atharen's. "Ranger." The Dunadan turned his bright gaze upon Ferethor at his address. "The pursuers are outlaws, I deem, Atharen. Fierce and desperate have become the Haradrim outlaws in this region that preys upon unwary travelers, 'T is said, for their native lands have become barren and wasted with their long war against the Realm of Gondor. They have no homestead to go back to, no children alive to tend to, and no food enough to live out the winter. Is my guess amiss?"
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