[Amanaduial the archer]

"Through Rohan over fen and field,
Where the long grass grows.
Land of those who breed fine steeds,
The best that Arda knows..."

The voice that sang the song paused occasionally as the owner made it up, but it nonetheless flowed, the melancholy tune in a minor key fitting the simple words that were fitted to it on the spur of the moment. Changing to whistling jauntily, as there didn't seem to be much point in continuing with the words - he could do words and he could do tunes, but a creator of words to songs straight of he was not - the rider turned the corner from the narrow street of high houses, simultaneously letting out a sigh of relief that once more light could fully reach him, and a gasp as he saw the plume of smoke reaching high into the clouds. Tipping his head back, his jaw-length sandy-blonde hair falling back out of the way of a smooth, sophisticated face, Hisimé stopped whistling, staring up at the flames, his animated dark blue eyes, so dark they were almost navy, wide in surprise, before he urged on Sentinel, digging in his heels gently and clicking in his throat. It looked like the fire must mostly be out, for there were no high flames greedily licking at the sky, but that was not to saw it was fully out, and a putrid stench hung in the streets of Edoras, and the folk there might need help. Coming at a careful, practised canter down the narrowd streets, Hisimé made his way as best he could down the unknown streets towards the smoke's origin, wondering what had caused the blaze.

Dismounting quickly as he reached it, the young man took in the startling scene - smoke still coming from the stable which had apparently been the centre of the blaze, people running to and fro, horses tied up willy nilly outside, stamping their feet nervously despite some folk's efforts to calm them. Catching onto their mood, Sentinal shifted uneasily, his nostrils flaring as the scent disturbed him, although he restrained his panic as a military horse is trained to, and now Hisimé took it in more carefully, he too recognised the stench: horseflesh and horsehair.

"I heard the Assistant Innkeeper, the young woman Aylwen, say that she would be needing carpenters and builders..."

A snatch of a conversation floated by and Hisimé relaxed slightly: if they were looking already for repairs to be made, the fire must indeed be out. A makeshift place to leave horses had apparently been rigged up a safe distance away, and uncertainly, the young man led Sentinel towards them. A capable looking young women came towards him, half frowning, and Hisimé held back slightly. She smiled in a business-like fashion. "I have experience with them, and say that in Rohan."

Understanding her meaning, Hisimé grinned sheepishly and reached into a pocket of his brown tunic, under which was a white shirt and over which was a dark riding cloak. As he offered her a few silver coins for her trouble, the woman ignored his hand. Puzzled, but pleased, the Gondorian left his thanks with her and went towards the Inn, his straight, disciplined way of holding himself speaking accurately of a soldier, taking the few steps as one and opening the door quickly before he stepped into the rather chaotic room where a young woman with an air of respected authority over the chaos was apparently preparing to make an announcement. The Innkeeper, maybe?