[Imladris]

Maethor

Maethor swung his leg easily across Nar, his stallion, and contemplated what had come to pass. Lespheria had sensed Vanwe, the beautiful elf-maid he had seen in the Forsaken Inn. He wondered vaguely what Naiore had done with her, if the Ravennor of Mordor had harmed her in any way. A chill seeped down his spine as he thought of the vial he had found: though he knew little of Naiore, he had heard enough to know that she was creative in her devices of pain. He tried to recall the faint scent he had had a brief whiff of, before that too escaped in the naughty wake of a wandering breeze.

The plod of the hooves of the horses grew into a comfortable steady rhythm as Maethor's thoughts untwined themselves in his mind. He doubted that they would ever find Naiore, for hadn't she run wild for these many years? "We were so close," he murmured to Rauthain, "we followed her tracks here to Bree, and now she has vanished as the morning mist."

Rauthain remained silent and Maethor glanced anxiously around him, rebuking himself for following his thoughts so closely instead of the one they hunted. He wondered why it was so easily to become distracted from the task at hand.