It was about three hours before dawn. The moon had set and the night-fires of Lanuch could be seen clearly against the black night sky. Fairlain and Nimrandir stood in the darkened copse that stood by roadside. They had made their way down the river past dragon-clan warriors and half-orc filth and now came the obstacle of the cities of men.
Nimrandir shook his head. "We should go around. The river is not so swift that we could not swim it."
"We have nothing to fear from these people. I have dealt with them before." Fairlain was growing weary of the debate and leaned her back against the tree that stood closest to her. "We will not have the cover of night much longer, in any case."
There was a rustling sound by her right ear and she turned her head to look into the bright, black eyes of a tree squirrel who had climbed down from his nest to investigate the strange sounds. Fairlain and the little beast stared at each other in a long moment of silence, then lifting an eyebrow she said to it, "You are lucky he is not here..." The squirrel twitched its nose, flicked its tail twice defiantly and scampered back up its tree. Fairlain turned to the glade-walker once again.
"Then go. Lead us as you will. If we wait longer there will be no choice left to us."
Nimrandir nodded and started on his way down to the river's edge, Fairlain following. The Araniant ran swiftly at this time of year and the waters were icy cold, yet both travellers waded in without hesitation. Fairlain held her bow and quiver high over her head so they would not touch the water, feeling for footholds on the uneven river bottom and balancing herself against the swiftness of the current. It was slow progress, yet at the end of it they both stood on the opposite bank. Fairlain strapped her quiver of arrows once more to her back and held her bow in her hand to keep it from her wet garments. Ahead of them stood the hills that marked the beginning of the Windfells.
They had not gone twenty paces when they heard a strange cry and a foul, low growl coming from beyond a nearby hillock. Fairlain reached back, lifted out an arrow and nodding towards the sounds proceeded silently in that direction, bow at the ready. It was a hound, but not just a hound. It was one of the foul beasts the natives called "Cun Annun" and it had cornered something that whimpered among the rocks where it had tried to hide. Fairlain took two quick strides to the top of the hill, drawing back her bowstring and taking aim as she approached. She sent the gold fletched shaft straight into the beast's heart but it did not drop. Instead it turned its malice filled red eyes upon her and lunged with open maw. She did not have time to nock another arrow and fire but instead grabbed one of the daggers she kept at her side, thrusting it into the hell-hound's breast as it reached for her throat. Nimrandir ran up with drawn sword and took the monster's head as it bore Fairlain to the earth. Pushing the dead carcass away, she stood once more and they advanced slowly to see what else awaited them. It was a child.
Fairlain slung her bow over her shoulder, knelt down and reached for the little girl. The child had managed to squirm far enough into the rocks that the blood thirsty beast could not get its huge head past them to do her harm. She wrapped her arms and legs around Fairlain and clung to her in terror. Fairlain wound her arms around the little girl and held her close. Turning to Nimrandir she said, "There are cowherds who camp in these hills. I will take the child to them."
"Faerlhain, think! If we are known, then the purpose of the Lady and the purpose of the Dúnedain will also be known. It is a great risk not only to ourselves. Return the child, yes. But leave her outside the camps where she will be found."
Fairlain frowned, a delicate line of annoyance forming between her brows. She held the little girl to herself more tightly. "I will take the child to them." She began walking towards the hills where the sky was beginning to lighten. Nimrandir made an exasperated sound and followed after, sword in hand.
Davudh the cowherd looked up from his night's watch to see a white figure approaching the small gathering of huts where he and his brother tended their herds. He reached for his spear as the figure came closer, for it seemed to glow in the dim half-light. Cuthraul had been seen in the hills, lurking and prowling to freeze the souls out of the living. He called out, "Stay back!" and brandished the spear. The figure seemed to be carrying something in its arms.
"I come in peace," said the figure. It was shaped as a woman, but unnaturally white with strangely shaped features. She held a child in her arms. Davudh set his stance and raised the spear point. Behind him he suddenly heard a sharp cry. His brother's wife, Mara, rushed past him towards the figure and gathered her daughter to her breast with a sob of relief. "Mara, come back!" He shouted "We do not know what manner of demon this is!"
Mara turned to her brother-in-law with a tone of rebuke. "Lower your weapon. This is no demon...it is an angel."
