[Undómë]

‘I would like some tea,’ Meghan said, giving a thankful smile to Athwen. ‘Soup later, I think.’ She yawned and stretched, trying to work the kinks from her back.

She watched as Athwen fetched her a cup of steaming tea and took it gratefully from the woman’s hand. The heat of it warmed her cold fingers. Her gaze was drawn to the other side of the fire where the Elves were gathered.

‘They move with such grace, don’t they?’ She put down her tea and rubbed her hands together, feeling how rough they were. The healer’s hands, Nevtaliel, had been soft and smooth when they’d touched her own in passing. ‘I suppose they’ll be leaving when the sun rises. That is,’ she looked at Sythric and then to Brand, ‘if they do not worsen.’

Meghan turned her thoughts to what would happen once they got to Edoras. It was only a three-day ride to the King’s Hall. And then what would happen, she wondered. She’d given very little thought to how she would find her family, her village.

She felt a twinge of guilt recalling that at least she had a village and a family somewhere, while Athwen had no one to find, no home to return to. ‘Athwen, what do you think you will do once we’ve reached the King and delivered our message?’ Meghan leaned forward a considering look on her face. ‘You’d be more than welcome, you know, to come live with my brother’s family and me . . . in Bregoware.’