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Thorvel sighed in relief as Ambarturion took off running. They were finally on their way to Lothlorien once again. Thorvel and the other Elves were not far behind. They went at a swift pace, for they had a race to win, a race with the army. If they lost, the stakes would be high. So they ran, on and on. Mostly they ran wrapped in their own thoughts, but occasionally someone broke the quiet with conversation.
There were a good many things to think about. How far the Orc army had gotten that day, for one. They had been making decent speed before, about what would be expected of a mass that large. However, Thorvel figured that the Elves were now a few days behind. They had great need of haste indeed. That made him wonder whether they would stop for the night. Somehow he doubted it: the sun was already sinking low, casting long shadows in the fading light, and they had only been running for a few hours. They couldn’t go all the way to Lorien without stopping, but Thorvel did not think they would stop so soon, even though it had been such a long day. He would not presume to guess out loud; he did not particularly care to guess wrong in front of the Lorien Elves. Thorvel was amazed at how much had happened in such a short time, and the day hadn’t ended up half bad for all the troubles they had had getting there.
Thorvel glanced over at Lómarandil, one of the said troubles. The younger Elf seemed to be holding up all right, outwardly. Thorvel did not believe that he was as strong or healthy as he seemed to want them to think. Thorvel was tired of the needless burden he had caused thus far though, and if he wanted to pretend to be fit, Thorvel wasn’t going to argue. Yes; it had been a long day, and Thorvel would be glad to see the end of it.
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