Danel

The storm of the previous night had been fierce, almost as if foreshadowing a mighty clash of arms. Rain had struck the roofs of the fortress and the surrounding ground like the arrows of an attacking army; trees as strong as any senchenal were battered, their limbs ripped from them, some even fell under the continued assault. In my room in the tower I had felt like hiding away under the bed, I had wanted to hide, but it just would not do.

Estarfin nodded as the houses behind him went up in flames. The village of dry wood would burn until nothing was left but a pile of ashes, and perhaps a poisonous haze.

Estarfin turned and began to carefully scramble down the rocks. His hair and armour were covered in a fine dust, his expression set and determined. 

“We find them,” he said, as if it were an irrefutable outcome. 

Estarfin….beloved...I saw you for a moment, I heard your voice, calling to me. I hear it still in thought and I reach out to you. 

But I could not answer you in words. I knew what would happen if I did.

Nan Amlug East was a long vale that bordered on the foothills of Angmar. A land of rolling hills and thick forested groves, it was home to many a warg pack and herds of aurochs. But there were other inhabitants too, one of whom had given the area its name. 

It rained a little, of course. How could it not rain on them? But they kept up a good pace over the farm and grasslands of Annundir, into the gently rolling hills of the West. It was a trail Yrill had only followed a few times before, being far more a haunt of Men than of Elves. She knew the way, but not much of the surrounding land.

Khahaynd thought about Zairaphel and her frequent mentioning of handsome men; clearly that was her weakness on full display, and she wondered briefly if her brother Naraal was handsome enough to hold the Sorceress's favor, so that she could gain something by it. “You have a traitor to Prince Imrahil?” she said to her, raising her glass of wine in silent congratulation. “That is most unusual and useful.”

Thoughts were racing in Yrill’s mind. Looking down from her vantage point it was obvious that neither captive was badly injured. Both Danel, and what she could see of Parnard, appeared dirty, tired, frustrated, but neither were bleeding, nor had visible damage. On the other hand, many of the Men looked worn to exhaustion, and moved slowly, with eyes dull and weary. Were it not for the two Southrons, she would have thought to attack the group alone.

Meldanya, 

I have been dreaming. Not a foreshadowing of things to come I think, neither a message of doom. But it has left me confused upon waking. I would warn you, if you could but hear - just in case there is more to the dream than is usual.