All is well. The haunted ruins of the Betrayed City lie far to the north, the aelf thralls bound by aelf words and aelf stars remain unawares in the Ashen Town and I am safe, safe in the Inn in Comb.
Steora will be filled with pride to hear how cleverly I slipped out from under their very noses beneath the cover of darkness. 'Scared of your own shadow, Gyth!", she always says. She'll change her tune when she hears how swiftly I rode Heofonfyr south, alone through the wilds, to warn him - my Mentor.
Although I don't know what's got into her, she is usually so full of life, always a ready tale of the foolish wealas she has met. She only wanted to talk to Aefenwine when I saw her, almost as though I wasn't there until she saw the silver, silver gathered from the place where once Men ruled in majesty. A pile of glittering coin is always sure to raise a smile with Ste, but she seemed only to see the ring he gave me. The ancient ring of intricate design, finely wrought in silver, a sign of his pleasure that I risked so much to warn him. Who would not have warned him against the grim, tall men with hair dark as ravens, eyes pale as the moon, speaking in the tongue of the aelf wicca, threatening violence and slaughter to travellers by the fireside?
Perhaps that is why the southerner, the guide I hired, followed me south, to warn him too? He seemed to have no interest in the coin I offered in payment for his services. So like my Mentor in his love of music and tales of old, so willing to share them. They seem to have much in common, these men of the southern lands.
All is well.
