[piosenniel]

In a combined effort, Tasa, Orëmir, and he lifted Lindir gently on a blanket sling and carried him into the gatehouse. They laid him down carefully on the stones, propping his head up on part of his pack and covered him with his cloak.

‘Did I hear correctly?’ asked Endamir, placing his pack next to his brother’s. He waited until Orëmir had finished putting away his dressings and bandages and pot of salve he'd thrown onto the blanket as they carried the distraught Elf in. ‘About the Diviner? Is that who I heard the . . . Captain . . . speak of?’

Endamir unrolled his blankets and sat down on them, cross-legged. He watched as his brother did the same, positioning himself near to his Lindir so as to keep an eye on his condition. Orëmir had nodded is head, ‘yes’, to his brother’s question as he leaned back against his pack with a sigh. Endamir searched through the pockets on his own pack, bringing out some dried fruit, dried strips of meat, and a few packets of waybread. These he shared about with the rest of the company as well as his brother.

As he chewed on the withered remnant of a pear, he looked about the once familiar gatehouse. ‘Why do you think the Captain gave us that piece of information? You’d think that they would all be like Ingir, wouldn’t you? Why would they want to help us?’ His grey eyes clouded as he sifted through his own musings. ‘I don’t know that I would be that generous. I mean . . . here we are . . . the living. It must seem to them we deserted them . . . left them here to their fate. I shouldn’t wonder if they wanted us to suffer as much as they did . . . they do.’

He took a swallow of water from the skin his brother offered him. The leathery fruit and meat had caught in his dry throat. He looked round at the others. ‘Does anyone remember this . . . Diviner? I must say I don’t. Will he be favorable toward us . . .?’

Or, is this to be some sort of trap? he wondered to himself.