[Elora]

Vanwe

A robin startled up from the canopy of trees, in turn starting Vanwe as she walked on the soft carpet of pine needles. The hem of her dress was wet still from the Ford. She paused, gazing skyward and struggling within herself. It was hard to slip past this net that seemed to roll over her mind, like a fog so dense she could barely breathe through it. Her mother's hand was in it. She knew that but so thick was the mist that she could barely stir herself about it.

The sound of a man's voice shouting behind her and the scream of something fouler still dragged Vanwe about to stare back down the way she had come, towards the Ford. The call of the alarmed robin fell back to her, a distant echo. She frowned and started back down her path. To her credit, she got one whole step back the way she came before her mother's evil muzzed her once again.

Out of the dim shadows nearby loped a twisted shape. She could smell it's rank scent. It stopped, this nightmare creature that she had never seen, and bared rotting fangs. In a hoarse, rough voice that was more growl than words, it said "Elf flesh," and grinned at her.

Vanwe was rooted to the spot. Death was before her, holding a notched scythe of dark iron. It yawned at her feet. Another nightmare joined it. It flicked her a hot gaze of blood lust and cuffed the first roughly about it's mangled ear.

"Not for us that one. Later, maybe, if we are good..." With a corrupted laugh, the two lumbered off towards the Ford and Vanwe was alone again amidst the pines. Her mother's hand was in this, she stirred again through the nausea that roiled in her stomach. Vanwe fell to her knees, gasping after her first encounter with orcs. Waves of disgust broke over her and she screwed her eyes shut.

The compulsion to go on fell heavy on her, beating at her, forcing her head to sag with the weight of its blows. Vanwe endured, on her knees, but her strength was not up to this after all that had passed in the two weeks before and well had her mother known it. It was scattered to the four winds.

There was evil in this forest, and she was enmeshed in it. With a soft groan born of exhaustion, Vanwe got to her feet and there waved uncertainly. With effort, she turned back and stared at the unknown path before her. To her father it did lead. That was true, was it not? She could not rely on her mother to tell her so. There was only one way to determine if he was there. It was to go see for herself, and if so set him free.

Vanwe took a hesitant step forward and the compulsion throbbing in her skull eased a bare fraction. There was evil in this forest and perhaps her father could help. Yes, she thought as she took another step. Then another thought came to her. Her mother may even now watch, may even have seen her falter and turn back. The idea sent shivers down her back as her mother's words sounded in her memory through the fog.

"Tarry not, stray not, or woe will come of it daughter. Keep to your road and your family and you shall not regret it."

Vanwe took up another step and another, glancing fearfully at the trees on either side of her path and continued away from the Ford and towards her father's prision, a place called Imladris. Filled with foes, it must be a fearsome place indeed, but she would find him. She had to. That was a compulsion of her own making and it beat with her heart as she walked through the day.

Naiore

The forest quivered with the shock of blood spilt and Naiore straightened. A fearsome expression of wrath was carven on her features and her gaze was silver fire as she looked in the direction of the Ford.

"We move now," she commanded in a voice that was a lash of cruel whip. She gathered her pack onto her back and unhindered two curved swords from her back. Then, she glanced back to the others in the camp to ensure they heeded. Barrold looked rebellious but shouldered his pack nonetheless. Avanill avoided her gaze. Toby.... Toby was nowhere to be seen!

A curse as ancient as it was dire slipped from her lips in High Elven. Not even the beauty of that language could conceal its intent. Barrold shivered involuntarily. Naiore pinned Avanill with her anger.

"The hobbit, where is it," she demanded hard.

Avanill shook his head slightly, as if he found it difficult to move beneath the weight of her sudden rage. "I....do not.... know," he gasped hoarsely.

"Probably ran off," Barrold said morosely, a tinge of jealousy spreading through him. Naiore struggled with the competing force of her emotions and the absolute need for logic. The conflict danced across her face for a terrifying instant as all her future closed in around her with cloying defeat. Then, even more alarming, came the serenity that Barrold and Avanill had seen all too often. Her path was clear.

"You will find the treacherous stoat," she informed Ferney, "and Avanill shall aid you. You will find him before sundown, and you will bring him to me.

"You will not disappoint me." Naiore wore a mysterious half smile as she calmly and firmly set out her instructions. Barrold blinked at her in confusion and then at Avanill. Naiore's smile remained as the two men studied her in return.

"Wot, now," Barrold asked.
"Bring him to me by sunset," Naiore repeated softly.
"How will we know where you are," Avanill asked warily.
Naiore smiled lushly at him and raised a brow in amusement.

"Oh, you will find me, be sure of that. Do not have me look for you."

With that, Naiore turned her back on the two men and moved off. Her pace was rapid, fluid and flowing and soon the trees had her as they had swallowed her daughter earlier.

Barrold scratched at his tangled, greasy hair, partly to relieve the itch and partly to aid his labourious thoughts. A greedy, speculative glint light his expression.

"Come on then, lad, let's find the rat." With that, Barrold crossed to study Toby's light tracks. "I think he went this way," he said after a moment of consideration. That way lies our saftey, and a tidy reward too, he thought to himself. With a backwards glance at Avanill, Barrold started off. This could work out better than I thought, if the boy stays behind or follows the Ravennor. Barrold frowned at the ground as he struggled to read Toby's tracks. Tracking had never been a strong suit for the man.

Naiore moved unrelentingly towards the Ford and the battle which had begun overly soon. With the two men no longer encumbering her, she could be rid of more hindrances this way than by her earlier arrangements. What matter if Barrold and Avanill got caught in the blood spilling, Toby too of course. Once she had Imladris she needed none of them, and Imladris was falling faster than she had anticipated with the orc's early strike. Even now, Vanwe moved towards Imladris and carried doom within her. Naiore smiled as she loped towards the Ford.

The Ravennor had adapted to circumstance and re-asserted her control once again. Her future could not be denied her. Now, it was the matter of the Rangers and Lespheria. The sooner that was dealt with the sooner she would have Menecin.