Dawn was rising grey in the eastern sky. Yorva stood on watch atop a crumbled wall, cloak wrapped tightly around to keep out the sharp wind blowing across the dead fields. Her thoughts were on a wander, beyond the river, among the woods, through the gates into the midst of home. While Goatbeard lay resting in the tent below she allowed the resolute callous mask to fall and shadows of sorrow, terror and guilt flushed her eyes, made her tremble. She gripped hard the javelin used as she stood motionless as a prop to rest her weight on.
The cry of a bird called for attention circling in from the far east as it descended nearer and nearer above the camp. It was a young hawk; Yorva followed his movements with her gaze, now fully aware, and wondered as it landed atop the javelin’s handle, scrutinizing her dark figure with its piercing yellow eyes. Attached to its hind limb was a rolled scroll. With a whistle she alarmed Romdin as her hands untied the parchment.
The Ranger mounted the wall in an instant and peered over her shoulder. “What do you make of this Goatbeard? A message very obviously, but from whom?” The tall ranger stood in silence while he read, then he merely exclaimed: “Finally the day I have long been awaiting has come. “He walked to the edge of the wall as Yorva tried to decipher what words she could – lake… fight….call….- she puzzled over the content. “It is Rogue calling us to battle. Annuminas our old city shall be reclaimed!” Romdin showed an appearance of unusual emotion. He viewed the horizon beyond Fornost and took a calm breath. What followed was a lesson in history as Goatbeard told of the three ancient kingdoms and their fall. This morning’s happening showed Yorva how short only she had been involved in direct cause with the strange wandering men of the North. She listened intently, noting every bit of information as potential advantage in her own plight and inquired of Romdin about the habits of the Dunedain as they wandered the wilds. The Ranger closed his speech: “All of our Kin are called to arms, but the decision whether to come with us to the lands of Evendim lies with you. You have sought us out and Rogue pledged for you among our Elders against their initial dissent. We stood side by side in your first battle in the Breelands*, you took a wound whilst protecting our lands. We trust you. But Rogue would never force of you to do anything you wished not.”
Silence descended as the two figures stood in the ruin and morning fully rose on the land. With her back turned to his face Yorva sought to come to a decision while the young hawk took off from its still position to chase a breakfast. Romdin desired to gather camp and leave, yet he waited patiently.
“Do you really trust me Goatbeard?” He nodded earnestly. She turned to face him: “You took long means to explain to me before, yet I feel entirely at a loss. How urgently do I see my own worries so close by, but I also cannot forget the loyalty I promised Rogue. I do not wish to be parted from you at this point, but I must know my heart be eased into patience. I will ride with you under a preposterous condition: that we may take a swift side turn before we hasten to our Captains’ aid. I must ride to Annundir and gather what information I can about how everything fares – just as he tasked me to do once I felt ready and more accomplished with training, once my physical wounds have been cured. I admit I greatly fear I am rushing things and what we could discover but …”. Yorva fell hesitant overwhelmed by emotions proving too close to her heart to be silenced.
And so it was that by midday two riders crossed the abandoned farms of the northern people – Yorvas’ Kin, and vanished among the trees of the Annundiran forest.
*[A story to be told at another time.]
