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“You shall have to judge for yourself what secrets you may find,” answered Scyld. “For my part, I only pray that I have not set your hopes too high.”
They had reached level ground, and Scyld released Rowenna’s hand. It had been startlingly cold, despite the warm cloaks and the rigor of their climb, and he found himself dwelling on the fact for the next several minutes until he broke out of the woods and onto a high rocky shelf overlooking the outlying lands: the hall and outbuildings of Scarburg, immediately at their feet; past that, the surrounding homesteads and the holdings of the local landlords; and farther away south the pale, gleaming ribbon that was the Snowbourne and the distant crags of the Ered Nimrais, marching east towards Gondor.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
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