By the time she reached the main camp of the free people most of those seeking refugee there were already settling in as best as possible. The healers had their hands full - many were wounded and some others, among the new workers, were shaken by fear and their eyes still reflected the terror of their first encounter with the hideous face of the war in the moors.

"We could leave everything behind. We could just run. Live by ourselves, the dream of us we never achieved. We could live alone in these forests, raise a child to be better than either of us. It would be paradise."

"... Do you mean that?"

Cutch had an arrangement with the village head caretaker, Merethir. The Enclave grounds would continue to be tended by the Elf, except for the plot Her Ladyship’s manor, Bar-en-Acharn, occupied. Upon his marriage to Seregrian, Cutch was determined to care for those few acres himself, as part of his request that Her Ladyship allow him to be the Steward of her House. His reasons were very simple.

The elf swatted a branch out of the way as the trudged down the dirt road. No horse, no companion, no nothing. Only herself. She approached a run down looking town. Shabby wood buildings, sloppy dirt and mud roads... Pathetic. Then again, what was to be expected from these pitiful humans. Humans had no standards compared to her kind. The elves would compare this icky, depressed village to orc architecture!

North Ithilien; winter; pre-dawn