[Belin]

"So the smith went..." Livia broke off suddenly and pointed northward, waiting for Hithduiniel to provide her with the word. "Yes. North." She flung a strand of dark red hair over her shoulder, relishing her tale and stumbling through her words. "Not yet to Garolin, yet close. His... helper-learner?... was lost in the war. But he couldn't live alone--he was very quiet, yet he wanted to choose it--therefore he searched another one, sons of men or no. And Tannor--his village had not burned, only later-- Hithduiniel, why don't you ride a horse? Aren't you tired?"

"Tired?" she sniffed. "I have been tired, from riding. Must you Atani judge everything by your own bodies? I could run like this for days and days, although it would be easier if you didn't stand on my fingers."

Livia readjusted her foot in the stirrup. "But Dineniel and Lenilos--"

"Would you call Lenilos a good rider?"

Livia glanced over at where the Green-Elf was attempting to make his peace with his beast. She leaned down and whispered, "The worst I've seen."

"You haven't seen me," retorted Hithduiniel. "I'm much more comfortable as it is. Who is this Tannor you mention?"

"He taught me your speaking. I met him at the-- where I live. He knows all about Elves"--Hithduiniel rolled her eyes--"and all about horses and dogs. He has a wonderful water-voice, like you do, and he's very handsome"--she suddenly blushed, remembering the lesson in which she'd learned that-- "nearly as handsome as your brother."

Hithduiniel stared incredulously, nearly stopping the horse. "My brother, handsome? Mine? Is that a nice way of saying he's nearly as ugly as a troll?"

"What's this about trolls?" called Lenilos from behind Dineniel.

"Who's that?" interjected Eolinda sharply, pointing ahead.

"It's one of your stupid villagers," announced Dineniel. "It's the one with the well."

"Gondeithel?" cried Remdil, exchanging a look with his wife. She seemed as alarmed as he. If Gondeithel were leaving town... Without a word, they broke suddenly into a gallop, leaving the others, bewildered, to catch up.

The Elf was not mistaken. Gondeithel looked as distracted as ever. His eyes searched northward, southward, eastward, and even after lighting on them briefly, did not rest. The stern lines of his perpetually worried face were so standard for him that his expression was completely unreadable. Remdil swallowed. Gondeithel would not leave the town, he was sure of it, not unless all was better than he could hope, or unless there was no longer hope of anything becoming better. "Gondeithel!" he called, and suddenly the bright, searching eyes were focused on him again. He was drawing near to them. "Looking for trouble, are you?"

"Nonsense!" snapped the man, without greeting or preamble. "That's you. I'm only looking for you."

"You're reasonably safe, then. I generally only find half of what I'm looking for, and the sweeter half at that." Remdil, with a grin, gestured toward Livia. The old soldier nodded at her, a small smile flashing across his face like a butterfly's shadow.

"Who else have you brought?" he said, eyeing the group with some suspicion.

"Well, the girl's very charming, you know; she can't go anywhere without making some friends. Where have you come from? Town burn down?" Remdil smiled jovially, hoping that this was not in fact the case.

Gondeithel glowered. "For all I know, it has. That idiot second of mine--well, the more we talk the slower we ride, if you take my meaning. It's your uncle."

"What?" broke in Eolinda. "What's he done? He always seemed so well-behaved, but you know he's an old man, I'm sure he didn't mean--"

"He's done nothing," said Gondeithel shortly. "What I mean to say is: he's died."