[Folwren]

Athwen and Dorran stood together, each holding the rein of their horse. Neither of them said much as Carl came out of the cave, empty handed and with a look of disappointment on his face. Athwen sighed and looked down before lifting her eyes to Dorran's face.

“We’re too late, aren’t we?” she asked, barely speaking above a whisper. She didn’t want to spread doubt to the others, though she imagined they probably were thinking the same thing she was. Only her husband heard the words. He looked down at her and shrugged slightly.

They watched silently as Vrór went down into the cave. Athwen sighed very deeply and sat down on a large boulder nearby. Her horse tugged at his reins, reaching for a tiny clump of prickly looking grass. She looked at him and extended her arm just a little so he could reach it.

“What can we do now?” she asked herself. “How can we follow them in this hopeless terrain? There can’t be any tracks left!” A voice hailing from a hill above them caused Athwen to emerge from her thoughts and look up. She spotted Lindir, the elf, standing and waving with one hand as he called Dorran to come up to him.

Dorran looped his horse’s reins around a branch of a twisted tree and started up. Athwen watched him a moment before rising and deciding to follow. She tied her horse beside Dorran’s and started up the ascent.

As she approached, Athwen saw that Dorran held something in his hand. Both he and Lindir were looking at it as Lindir spoke. “Could it have belonged to one of the slaves," he asked, "and does it tell us anything about what happened?"

Athwen reached Dorran and silently she took his arm and looked over at the metal object in his hand. She said nothing, because she had nothing to say, and wondered if Dorran would be able to tell them what it was.