[Elora]

Naiore

Naiore bent to shift the stones by the kitchen door of Barrold's dilapidated house. She would dally no longer in his kitchen. With Rangers surely about and Barrold's notorious greed, lingering would only lead to an easy collar. They would be coming, of that Naiore was sure. Insticts honed over ages told her that. The presence of a familiar mind and then Vanwe's surge only confirmed it. Barrold had his instructions and there was no need to sit idle any longer. Naiore had never liked Bree.

Now unburdened by haste or the weight of another, Naiore made use of all her Elven stealth as she left the farmhouse behind her. Let the Rangers attempt to track her. They would not find so much as a bent blade of grass. Light footed and with the woodcraft of her kin and thousands of years of experience, Naiore moved beneath the moon and stars to the safer refuge of the many nooks of Bree Hill.

She had a number of bolt holes, each selected for their vantage and defensibility. The one she chose now was remote. The entrance and surrounds were stony. Noone could approach, especially Men, without her hearing them. It was high, offering a view through the tangle of low shrubs that concealed the entrance. But best of all was the fact that should any manage to track her, the stones would offer no trace of her passing. She had retained Elvish dress customs for more than simply their aesthetic qualities.

Naiore smiled as she stood in the entrance of the shallow hole in the hill. Just over the way, Hobbits nestled comfortably in their holes. Imagine if they knew who shared the hill with them. Lights of Bree's houses below winkled in the night. Then, she turned her back and entered the hole. Content and at home in the night, Naiore settled down to await dawn, Barrold and her daughter.