[littlemanpoet]

They were up with the sun next morning, and Mellon, or Amroth, pushed on, the three others following in his wake. Ædegard was happy, even though the cold seeped through his clothes, the price of a clear night in late Autumn. Liornung's story had been good, and even though Ædegard had not been able to see his eyes, the sound of his voice said that the fiddler spoke truth. Ædegard trusted him the more.

Liornung caught up with him at the middle of the morning, as the still far off eves of Fangorn came in sight.

"I've heard you murmuring or mumbling something. What is on your mind, Ædegard?" His words came on a vapor with the chill.

Ædegard turned to him with a sheepish smile. "I have been practicing your craft. Surely I'll only ever be a poor hand at it, but I like how it turns on the tongue."

"Tell me what you mean, friend!"

Friend! Ædegard made sure not to let his surprise show on his face, but such a term was dearly bought in his reckoning, but it came easily to the lips of the fiddler.

He grinned, bashful in answer to his request. "You would think me a fool."

"So be it then, I've often enough been a fool myself, so I'll enjoy the company of another!"

Ædegard laughed. "So be it then! A moment." He furrowed his brow and mouthed some voiceless words, then took in a deep breath as if to blow out a small fire.

"We make our way through West Emnet
to see how far we can get,
following Amroth or Mellon, whichever his name,
wondering for his ailment who is to blame!"

"There you have it. Silly, no?"