[Lasbelinion]

The lights from the kitchen windows shone like beacons in the falling dark. On silent feet Lithmîrë made his way toward them from his hiding place. Wary of any that might see him, he crept from pooling shadow to shadow, stopping often to sense any who might be near.

His head ached with a fierce, sharp pain, made more insistent by the burning torment of his face and arm. They throbbed increasingly, the damaged nerves raw. His little supply of herbs to quell the agony was depleted, and the dose he’d had in his morning tea had been too long ago. He focused on Mistress Bunce’s promise of helping him to replenish his stock as he made his way back to the Inn.

Lithmîrë’s breath caught in his throat as he noted the two figures near the hawthorn tree. The Elf who had chased him and someone who lay sleeping on her lap. He pulled up his hood and gave the two a wide berth, closing his mind hard against any intrusion from her.

Long it seemed until his steps brought him to the kitchen door. He hesitated as his hand reached for the knob, thinking perhaps he should not barge in. Raising his fist, he gave three soft knocks, then stepped to the side of the little stoop to wait in the darkness for someone to answer.