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Not for the first time in his life, Eldín felt like he was all alone, cut off from the world. It would have made no difference had he been standing alone in a withered glade instead of this company of rangers and his kin. Without the presence of his mother, no light would have shone to mark his path.
He turned to her, studying the eyes which had the look of one who had recently wept. He felt a pang of quilt at the sight of his mother's sadness, and like so many times before he pondered if the quilt he felt at his parent's anguish was just. After his early childhood, not a tear had flown for himself. All his pity had been directed at his mother and father.
As if feeling her son's eyes upon herself, Cerímb turned her head to answer his gaze. Their eyes met and she smiled, a loving smile that sent all of Eldín's doubt back into the shadows.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around to see Elríng, his father, standing behind him. Eldín bowed to him.
Elríng studied his son with an expression of pride on his face. Born without hearing or the skill of speech, no-one had expected Eldín to ever ammount to naught other but a burden for other's. Yet here he was, a tall and able warrior, as worthy as any to face down any enemy. Elríng smiled and embraced his son. Releasing him, he spoke in the silent tongue he and his wife always used with Eldín.
'Hail, Eldín, my son! Tall have you grown and strong is your arm this day, the day you have long awaited. I am proud of you.'
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