Rohan: Mellon-Amroth
Those were welcome words.
Ędegard turned his horse northward, lips tight, hands white-knuckled on the reins. Echo swung to the old bay's off-side and paced him. Liornung hastened to remount, and then he and Bellyn hurried in behind.
Liornung did not stay behind for long, however; the prairie was wide enough for five horses abreast. He rode up to Amroth's off-side, and looked at him, thinking of so many questions he wanted to ask. Liornung's packhorse matched his own mount's stride, and Bellyn rode beyond the packhorse, suddenly worried that she might miss any conversation.
But there was none so far. Amroth's eyes were straight ahead, except for an occasional lefthand glance at Ędegard. The lad's anger was palpable, and Amroth was content to ride between the two young men as a buffer. When the horses needed rest, there would be time enough for talk.
Amroth cast his thoughts northward again, searching, searching, tracing the sweet stream from its root in the mountain to where it joined the Celebrant, then following the Celebrant along the forest. The forest was still strangely quiet; either more elves had migrated west than he thought likely, or their minds were closed. Perhaps they felt threatened by the darkness Durin's folk had roused in the mountains. It mattered little; there was only one mind he wanted to find.
His eyes glittered coldly again as he stretched his mind out further, further reaching, searching. Sensing his purpose, Echo steadily lengthened his gait. The other horses followed suit.
The old bay was the first to break a sweat.
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