"Elbereth Gilthoniel..." Moridel muttered under her breath upon seeing the dark-cloaked figure stalking towards the campfire.
By now, there were none in the company who were not awake to some extent, such was the pall of fear cast by this thing. Moridel tasted the metallic air. There was no doubt in her mind what this was: the terror was too great for that, and the way in which the creature abandoned stealth, knowing it was of no avail.
Forewarned is forearmed, so they say, yet what amount of warning can avail against such an enemy? Ah, I would that more of my people were here... Aragorn, perhaps, for he has seen more of wraiths than ever I have. Yet I have had my fair share of brushes with them, though their unbridled wrath is not something to be dared if any avoiding is possible.
Moridel's eyes never left the figure, as it advanced smoothly towards them. It scents the air! Oh, Varda, what is to be done?
Yet, while she focused on how to deal with this threat, in the back of her mind Moridel was thinking something quite different. What manner of wraith, this? And why does it come? The terror it radiates seems not great enough to be Ulairi, unless it were the least of them, perhaps. Does it come from the Downs, I wonder? Yes, that must be it. I wonder what this wight is doing out of its barrow? If our threat were so great, it would not dare to venture forth, yet if we were of no account, it surely would not trifle with us. Some great need must draw it, to attack such a company openly and far from its barrow. Yes, some very great need indeed...
Moridel fingered her sword, hidden beneath her cloak, and stayed in a slumped position to mimic sleep. She dared not move. I must wait, and see if the wraith's actions betray aught of its motives...
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