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After many hours of walking, Indil was extremely tired. Her legs hurt, and her feet hurt, and though Tharonwë moved effortlessly over the rough terrain, many sharp edges of stone hurt her, scratching or bumping her as they moved by.
She watched Thoronwë look toward further mountains, and then down the pass, and then toward the sky. Her throat was dry and the air was cold.
His face took on a cruelty that surpassed the sternly carved expression of before. Just then, Indil seemed to hear voices echoing up the mountain path.
"Are you listening to them too?" she asked him shyly.
He turned, eyes bright, fixed hard on her, probing her. His motions were crisp, certain. His eyes and face moved, his body following. She shivered at his intense concentration on her.
"I am sorry." she said quickly. "I did not mean to interrupt your thinking."
"Who do you hear?" To Tharonwë's sharp ears, there was nothing on the wind. "What do they say?"
She looked up at him nervously. "I do not know her name. But she says things that sound like songs. Things grown up men and women say about each other. And Raefindan. Him too. I can hear him saying things, only he uses funny words. He says them to her. He says he loves her."
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