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"You don't know how glad I am to see you," Anhelm said to Astalder with fervor in his voice. "Things have gone south so badly we're going to be hitting the sea soon. Adenain was injured. He's back at the settlement, getting patched up. He's out of commission entirely."
"How many of the men were injured?" Astalder asked, concern permeating his words. Though it was clear that he had not been treated kindly by the Haradrim, his first thoughts went to his men. Anhelm felt pride swell in his heart. This was the kind of man that Gondor turned out; this was the kind of man who he would be fighting alongside. For now, a fight was imminent; there was no more 'if', only 'when'.
"We'll find that out once we get to the settlement. But from what I can see..." He twisted around on his horse and looked back at his men following him. "Far too many. I don't think we lost too many, though, but it will be a bitter fight at the settlement."
"A bitter fight?" Astalder echoed dubiously. Anhelm nodded.
"The Haradrim aren't going to give up without one," he said confidently. "But I'm not concerned; we'll manage."
"We're sorely outnumbered and from what I saw, they're not lacking in weapons," Astalder insisted.
Anhelm glanced at him with a look of injured pride. "I know what I'm doing, Astalder. I can handle this. The men that were sent to me are the best--you included. We can take whatever the Haradrim throw at us."
He looked before him, towards the settlement, and nodded. "Whatever they throw at us."
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