Danel

Swan-Hoof had fortunately suffered no injuries, but she was restless and concerned, not only for Pelorian, but for Parnard and Danel. Both horses were tossing their heads, neighing and snorting. ‘Could the horses but speak,’ Yrill thought, not for the first time in her life. 

Mirdanel took her hand and grasped it reassuringly, with unexpected strength. She had always wondered at how an elleth with such small hands could forge as well as she did. But then for a Mirdan, small hands were a benefit. Istuil had seen the Lady work on larger items too. Though she did not have the strength…nor the skills of a metal-smith, Mirdanel was far stronger than she looked. 

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“Cousin, wake up!” said Parnard. “I think I did it!”

Danel awakened from her slumber on the grass and sat up. The Wood-elf was leaning over her, green eyes bright with excitement. 

Parnard rose to his feet and bowed before Estarfin as he approached us. He looked a little weary to me, though not overly so. We tried to take regular shifts of guard duty, he and I, Yrill and Ceuru and Filignil. Barahirn protested he was also able to take his turn, but we deemed he needed a couple more weeks rebuilding his strength. 

“I was hoping to drag Naergon out of his musings, but I haven’t seen him all day,” Earcalie said. “He has moved here as well. Waiting to make his mind up about sailing. You do remember him?”

I glanced at Hingalas, knowing what was to follow. Although he was merrily helping himself to the food he had selected, his eyes had that gleam of sudden keenness that I recognised. From the edge of my vision I saw Parnard gulp.

(This tale takes place two days before Danel and Parnard leave Numenstaya for Celondim.)