Ceuro

The sky was predictably darkening by the time the four Elves turned across the rugged land to the walls of the Dourhand port. Yrill dismounted from her horse and made her way through the rocks and undergrowth to assess the gate. She turned in surprise: Estarfin was lurking close beside her. Her own skills had not alerted her to his presence, and she realised she had underestimated him.

“I know not where they are,” insisted Culuninnel, biting back at Estarfin's accusation. “But this cloak means -”

Again the Noldo advanced so that his large horse almost trod on the Captain.

Ceuro took the empty plate and goblet and headed back down from the lookout spot on the ridge. He had endured something of an onslaught from the angry Filignil. She was still on duty, and would be for another hour, and she was not at all amused that she had only just had the day’s happenings explained to her. The Housekeeper-come-Guard was a swift shot with a bow. None would enter Numenstaya without her knowing, and her permission.

She returned nigh midday, to find Estarfin speaking casually with the Dwarven workers about the wall building. He hailed her as she rode past him to the stables. Despite his earlier words, he did not seem particularly at ease.

“Any news, Yrill?”

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.