[mark12_30]

The night was clear and bitter cold. The horses' whiskers had frost on them. They camped near a small copse and made two large fires, and huddled together for warmth. Even the elves on watch stayed near the fires.

The next morning they woke cold and stiff, and hungry. Lembas had no appeal, but they used dried meat, fruit, and lembas to make a sort of breakfast stew. Cheered, they mounted and rode.

The river murmured and bubbled along its thin edges of creaking, crackling ice. Fallen leaves blew along the shore, and swirled along the river, eddying near rocks and shallows. The sky was clear, the midwinter sun had been bright but cold. Liornung had wrapped his fiddle in his spare shirt and stored it deep in his saddlebag. The sun went down; they could see their breath even in the twilight.

Careful search all along the bank had showed them nothing. Amroth let his thoughts roam further south; there were no elves here.

"Erebemlin, there are no elves along this riverbank."

"None with open minds, my lord. I do not think her mind is open. If she had opened her mind, would you not find her?"

Amroth considered his friend, and nodded. With a sigh, he said, "We will search the bank." He rode on, pondering. "But Erebemlin, when I first came, I thought I found her in dreams. I thought that I sensed her presence. Yet waking, I could not and cannot find her."

Erebemlin grew thoughtful. "Yet the nightmares weary you, my lord. Your body needs sleep or you will sicken as men do."

Amroth gazed ahead. "Do not think me ungrateful, friend. But perhaps you should lessen your guard over my sleep."

Erebemlin hesitated, and bowed his head. "As you will, my lord. Yet I would not see you weaken again. It is not many days since you first regained any strength."

"I will rest when I find her, " Amroth replied.