[Durelin]

Calenvása’s mind worked speedily, attempting to process all the words that his ears were hearing. Thorvel spoke with an air of absent-mindedness, voicing every one of his thoughts without organizing, for fear that he would lose them in the proceedings. This was exactly what Calenvása had wished for him to do, as thoughts were misplaced or retained that could be important if all were not uttered. Between two minds in the quiet of the world, a tumultuous quiet as it might be, these thoughts would all be taken into proper consideration. And Calenvása’s mind was trying to do the same. He had gotten a word in, letting forth a suggestion that had to be heard, if not sound likely. For now, it seemed, their two minds thought alike. Which was natural considering their similarities. But Thorvel’s differences brought to the Captain’s mind a freshening view of the same circumstances. They thoughts along the same lines but saw things in their own minds’ eyes, and so were able to look at the situation from different angles, much as they had been viewing the enemy from different places and through each elf’s eyes.

“A trap? Very much a typical component to the Enemy’s plans,” Calenvása said, letting his own thoughts run free, and so already finding his sense of humor becoming a part of expressing these sober thoughts. “But to trap between…and between the two forces, you say? I would not call that a force, but a party, perhaps a troop. Just enough to fill an inn, and one of the town tavern kind. Elite though they may be, I doubt that the orcs and Southrons would be enough to pinch those of Lorien in between they and the main force…” He trailed off for a moment, pausing shortly when finding himself lacking of a conclusion to this suggestion. He kept his mouth working, knowing that words were soon to come from it, and, as he had hoped, Thorvel saw this and remained silent, for now.

“The ‘special force’, you called them?” Calenvása glanced at Thorvel, with a grin, taking his eyes away from the sun, which he had stared at as he pondered. The elf smiled back, and nodded. “Interesting…it sounds misplaced, but I can think of no better term. For ‘special’ they just might be.”

Thorvel nodded anxiously at this, his eyes shining as they had back in the clearing, frustrated and angered, as well as excited. The vexation of a mission, of any obstacle the scouts had to overcome, brought with it its own kind of excitement, if not a jovial one. He spoke quickly, the irritation clear in his voice to the point that he practically breathed the words with hot breaths of anger. “Special, yes, but how? How are they of a special importance?”

“It is almost as it I have heard those words before…” Calenvása said, rather dryly, but grinning all the same. He looked at his comrade once more, and the blazing eyes that met his did not abash his smile. Quickly those eyes began to cool after one last great flaring and a shake of the head they were set into. The Captain’s grin grew, and soon Thorvel lowered his eyes, a smile appearing on his own face. “You bring us back to the beginning, Calenvása continued, “when you should allow the pieces to work their way to a whole.”

~

Targil, Night

Targil ran at a quick pace, finding himself wishing that Lómarandil would fall behind. But it was getting late in the day, falling into night, and the elf had easily kept the intense pace. He almost quickened his pace, but the young elf chose this moment to speak. “Should we not wait for our Captain?”

Targil sighed heavily, but Lómarandil did not catch the annoyance in his voice as he spoke. “Yes, Lómarandil.” It dripped with mock cheerfulness, and his eyes flashed with anger. He glanced at the young elf, but Lómarandil looked him straight in the eyes without a flinch. The boy had himself on his mind much too often, and nothing could change that. Nothing changed what he was, and in his mind, he was foremost of all. What Targil would not accept was that this made the young elf that he so despised so much like him.

It was impossible that Lómarandil did not see the anger in his companion’s eyes, and yet he smiled slightly as he began to speak. No apology came from him, as he of course saw nothing that required one. Targil’s hand that swung at his side as he walked was balled up into a tight fist, gripping hard to keep a hold on to his anger.

The young elf pointed ahead into the distance, where trees had become scarce. Targil followed Lómarandil’s gesture to see clearly ahead of them several bright dots in the growing darkness. “Should we not wait for our Captain?” the elf asked again as he brought his arm down. This time, Targil reluctantly saw past the young one’s arrogance and recklessness, and nodded.