[Rimbaud]

The Elf and his Boy

The remainder of the night was sheer drudgery for Elwood. The first sign of truly bad blood had been forcing the boy to send Telefax back towards Thenamir’s party. He had achieved it – and even suggested that it was the boy’s good idea in the first place – but it had not been easy and Kalohern remained sullen.

Even casting his will and inner sight forwards, he could distinguish no trace of Guthrin, whose ravaged mental path had been easy to taste before, although physical tracks along the way were not hard to find. The man seemed to have fallen often and bled unchecked. Elwood tried to force his grave forebodings to the back of his mind.

Despite this, and Kalohern’s aptitude for tracking, the cold and the dark conspired with the loose and treacherous shale to confuse and confound most would-be trackers. Elwood guided the boy as best he could, a gentle hand, usually unfelt by the young Rider, a comment, a murmur at the right time, a half-gesture in one direction or another. It was quite tiring, but necessary for the boy was close to bridling at any comment. Arenia and Volkmar stayed quiet and huddled in the hoods, silenced by the sour atmosphere and piercing cold.

When morning came, Elwood began to regret his decision to push on through the night, as he knew their quarry had done. His trio of companions (the Warg had silently melted away and not returned early in the night, much to his regret) looked bedraggled and dispirited. Exhausted too, more pertinently, and he saw they would need to stop. Not only that, but they were desperately short on food and water and there was no promise of either even once they had traversed the mountains – clearly Guthrin’s intent, that much was evident from his path.

He felt in his blood that whatever was driving the troubled Rohirrim would not let him rest, even for a second.

“He puts distance between us,” sighed the Elf, feigning more weariness than he felt. Or was it more…I am no longer sure…

Kalohern looked at the Elf, standing nearby panting, head bowed. He straightened his shoulders. “We continue,” he said firmly. “We must catch him, and discover the truth!”

Arenia groaned audibly, and nearly sank to the ground. Volkmar just grunted and almost looked eager to get moving again.

They pushed hard until midday and pale sun weakly took center-stage. They had reached the foot of Methedras, having come there through the oddest of paths, that they were not sure they could retrace. Here, they were flummoxed. The mountainside was sheer. They had reached a dead-end. Guthrin’s tracks led straight into the heart of the rock of Methedras.

[ January 30, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]