The following is found written on a piece of parchment left in the Blue Garrison by accident when Tuilinneth used the facilities to lent some maps. One can assume they are notes for a letter she is intending to write.
"Returned from Evendim lake to find the Homestead in complete disarray. Couldn't find anything of mine. Have to wonder if that is how Fiontann spent the weeks while we were away. Can't see the pointy ear of an Elf around either so he again didn't take me serious, or so I must guess. Nights become urgent once more, I'd rather not sleep.. Trying to teach myself about the lays of the lands we are about to enter, comparing maps created by different parties at different times. Better to be prepared in case one gets separated. No word from you other than meager reassurances from Rogue. I am both tired and in need to redirect what's going on inside me. I am thinking of riding ahead towards the Last Bridge maybe I can find help myself once I cross into the Wild Shaws. I can already tell Fion won't like this, but I don't like putting on a face at all times. I can't do it. Mental reserves are almost spent. Strange encounter in Evendim also plays in my mind. It was strange to converse in Sindarin again, the words add to my belief that I will gaze towards North soon. I hope to find you unharmed.... don't spare worries on me I was doing well enough on the road, the wandering women are an ointment to my troubled thoughts. They are good and remind me of times when I was still capable of innocence. They grow dear to me more each day, once we have found you we plan to organize a little tournament of ranged combatery and horseback fighting. Just for our little family, skills might come in useful to teach everyone. Also wonder where Pren has got to. Everyone keeps joking about him, but there is more to his bloodlust. I could do with his company."
Thus the hastily scribed notes end.
At predawn the figure of a woman is seen busying around the stables talking silently to a dwarf warden on watch. She nods and mounts her horse, leading it through the freshly fallen snow down the slopes out of the gates into the mountains. A track of her steed is left soon to be covered by falling flakes.
