[Eorl of Rohan]

The sickle of the Valar swung in the northern night heaven of Arda , glimmering as if faded with grief and sorrow of Quendi and Atanatari. Star Helluin that Elbereth star-kindler had set there glistened unsullied with a pale blue light amidst the dispersing mists, whence sailed Earendil's vessel. Constellation Menelcamar blazed with splendor in the eastern firmament in glory, signifying the end of days when Belcha Morgoth shall be freed.


The starlit glade was silent and without movement, if dancing leaves in tune to the autumn breeze did not count. That is, except for Ferethor who was now aroused.


Ferethor recovered swiftly for fire of life was yet strong in this youthful captain of Minas Tirith and the wound was not too severe. Yet he was only sustained at times by his willlpower and would cry out in times of great aguish notwithstanding his endurance.


Yet Ferethor was no longer what he had been. Strange indeed have Ferethor grown of late, since his grievious injury in the encounter with the raiders of Harad. More wordless and enduring in silence with no verstige of his lofty manner remaining, and slow to hot flashes of anger that he had often shown. Depressed and seemingly unconcious of his surroundings at times, Ferethor would speak in a low murmur about things that directly related to himself and will not join in any discussion pertaining the next stage of their journey.


Ferethor was sitting awake, passing his hand over his fevered brow. His gaze strayed to the high heaven where gems of Elbereth Elentari sparkled in many-colored hues. He was alive and in full faculty of his senses, although he was not sure that it was a blessing or a curse. 'But it is not given us to decide the time or rule our own end.' He thought.


The anguish with which Ferethor suffered from ebbed down and faded with the passage of time, for which he was much glad. Then Ferethor noted with some surprise and doubt that something hung by his neck and reached out for it. Slender links of silver and bronze links clinked in his hands and a pendant of exquisite workmanship was fastened at the end. It was wrought of silver and Ithildin and inlaid with chips of sapphire and ruby, and gleamed in the likeness of Telperion's blossom.


Turning it over bemusedly in his hands, Ferethor noted tiny letters scratched in the silver-wrought petals on the metallic blossom. "May Lady of the Stars ward thee from peril, Crystal" Murmuring the words he could decipher, Ferethor was dismayed to learn that it was Crystal's and impulsively cast it down. The fair pendant, striking a stone in its descent, rolled into the mud and gleamed there still though it was half-buried in the mud.


This morn, the searing anguish was acute enough to threaten his very will and sanity, and Ferethor was too spent and weary to care about anything. But now fully aroused and looking back to this morning, Ferethor flushed in shame and anger and was wroth with his weakness. Allowing himself to be in a position of helplessness, utterly unable to resist anything or defend himself with wavering conciousness....


Captain Ferethor shook off such dark thoughts angrily and there was litte change in his grave countenance. Everyone seemed to his asleep with weariness from long toil and journey, or so it seemed to him. Sitting there rigidly and and unmoving as if he were wrought of granite, he wondered what would be passing through their minds. Worry? Anticipitation?


His wide-open and alert grey eyes scanned the woods, bright and intelligent but shadowed with some darkness no one can decipher. Ferethor recalled that Maen had said something about leaving. 'Since I 'm the only horseless person on the expedition, I shall be forced to tread the path on foot. Ferethor thought with some bitterness. Yet we can easily procure a horse in one of the Atani settlements. As a sentinel of Gondor on official mission I will have little trouble acquiring a emergency steed reserved for errand-riders.'


Ferethor arose then, wincing at the bitter pain that flashed through his muscles every time he moved his shoulder - the anguish that had been the reason for being awake in the middle of the night suddenly. He wandered over to the east until he came across a clear creek.


The little stream flowed down by a rocky crevice singing merrily like the music of Ulmo Lord of Waters unstained and seemingly unaware of grief and weariness in the world that beset the children of Iluvatar. Ferethor knelt down and cleansed his wounds by scooping up transparent water of cool tranquility for a while, but then he sighed and cried out, "Blood may be cleansed and wounds may heal, but who shall relieve us from despair and anguish of mind, save it be Iluvatar who dwells beyond our call for ever?"


It was almost dawn by the time he came back to the camp alone, limping. Few of the members of expedition were awake and could be seen in the shadows of darkness, others were still sleeping. 'A new stage of the journey opens before us.' Ferethor munched thoughtfully upon a piece of cram as he watched the new dawn. 'Will we survive it? Will any?'