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As Scyld climbed over the fence himself and followed Linduial up the ridge, he watched her as one might watch a young, unpredictable and unbroken stallion. What was he supposed to do with her recent fits of giggles? Had she lost all sanity? So help me if she has. Crazy woman with a knife that she probably doesn’t know how to use, unless nobles of Gondor are in the habit of teaching their daughters weaponry – not likely.
He caught up to her as she entered the trees and set a brisk pace through the undergrowth, which thankfully was not terribly thick. For all his other talents, Scyld could hardly be counted a skilled woodsman and did not much fancy struggling through tangled tussocks and thorny plants every step he took.
After they had been walking for several minutes, he finally began to breathe easier. Anyone who had seen them escaping, whether one of Sorn’s people or a rescuer, would have immediately sounded an alarm and come after them. It would probably take hours now at least for anyone to figure out where they had gone – and the rescuers, not finding Linduial, would not know for sure if she had even been there; as for Scyld, they did not know of his existence at all.
He glanced over at Linduial and saw that she still had traces of amusement on her face. He wished he knew what was so funny.
“So - do you know how to use that knife?”
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