[piosenniel]

Endamir left Malris to the care of Tasa. Unbuckling the belt that held his blade, he wrapped it round the sheath and laid them down atop his pack. His thoughts were discomfited at the scene that had just played out; he felt his words would hold no credence with Malris, who seemed almost possessed with the singing they had heard.

He cocked his head listening closely for any further refrain, but there was none. And even now he wondered if the music and the singing were some trick of the night breezes through the old ruins. Malris was so keen on coming to this long dead place that perhaps his need had infected all their minds. Taking in a deep breath, he breathed it out slowly. There were enough ghosts of his own to consider and appease, he thought grimly to himself, without taking on those of another.

Lindir nodded as Endamir returned to the fire. He held out a crisp fish to Endamir, who took it gratefully. The hot fat dripped down his fingers, but it was scarcely noted, the enticing smell of food overcoming the discomfort. He smiled at Lindir and sat down cross-legged near the fire, his eyes asking the other Elf to take a seat near him since his fish-filled mouth could not. Nimble fingers picked the meat neatly from the stick, leaving only a bit of uncrisped skin as an offering to the fire.

Endamir licked his fingers, in a graceful motion, like a cat enjoying the last remembrances of a successful hunt and kill. Wiping them at last on his breeches, he picked up a stray stick and poked at the fire, sending up showers of little sparks into the dark sky. Across the fire, he could see Lómwë, lost in his own thoughts it seemed. From their previous conversation, Endamir wondered what he would think of Malris’ most recent actions. Had Lómwë heard the singing? What did he think of it?

His musings were interrupted as someone started to sit down next to him. A hand rested familiarly on his shoulder as the figure used it for support.