Luthelian

Luthelian stood at the edge of camp, scanning the surroundings for any movement. She paused, her eyes resting on a tall stone figure standing in the distance with its back to the imposing cliff wall.

“But what if I want to come home? What if it's all too strange, and I get frightened? What if I miss you all too much?” Linneth suppressed a laugh, looking at the small face of her daughter, crumpled with worry. She held out her arms, and Caethel ran forward and scrambled on to her lap, pressing her face against the front of her mother's robes. Gently, Linneth stroked her hair, waiting until Caethel pulled back a little and stared up into her face, grey eyes clouded with anxiety.

Remain within the keep, he had told them.  Rest.

A simple order. 

Clear as crystal. 

A storm had been brewing – always perilous, this far East in the Hithaeglir – and up until that point, his scouts had been working tirelessly, alternating between watch and patrol.  There had been no need for extra eyes in a blizzard.  He had wanted them to take the opportunity to rest, regain their strength.

Yrill had disobeyed him. 

Tancamir had disobeyed him. 

“A word, Lord Dolthafaer.”

Luthelian rested her hand against her forehead, the dizzying effects of her head injury not entirely having left her.

“For the remainder of this mission, your duty is to watch the camp. You will not wander from your post.”

“But, my lord! That is unfair. I can help the others scout.” Surely, he would not make her entirely useless during their time in the Hithaeglir. Her head pounded more as her temper rose.

The wind howled outside, but could not reach the haven where Tancamir and Luthelian were camped inside the ruins. It was a night not for rest, but reflection, he thought with a grimace. He had always hated the sound of wind howling in the high passes.

They had covered a decent amount of ground in a day, Tancamir reflected drily. Luthelian was spirited, and their tempers often clashed, but they had still managed to make some progress on their scouting trip. There was no sign of the frost-giant Lord Dolthafaer had seen by the frozen pool a day before, but they had seen goblin-fires on the heights, and  found goblin-arrows  and signs of a scuffle on the path leading east.

No refreshment save battercake and wine, and standing on the walls of Hrimbarg Keep, I looked outward, staring at the sky, hoping for some glimpse of the lights in the darkling. Night comes on apace here in the far North.