Cyndin lay in the long sere grass at the top of a barren ridge, supressing the most irritating tickle in her throat - it wouldn't do to sneeze now, with those wargs prowling so close below!
Slowly she raised her head again, hood drawn well up to cover fair face and blonde hair as much as possible and peered out again, down towards the narrow strip of gleaming stream below the ridge, past the prowling wargs, where the men she had carefully shadowed from south of Bree stood with a clump of milling goblin-kind!
The four Men, brigands by their rough look and speech, had been lurking near the South-Gate of Bree, when returning, she caught sight of them, so intent on their watching that she was able to turn aside and conceal herself, wondering if these could be connected with the plot that her newfound friends had detected.
Following them, when at last they gave up their vigil and turned east, was simple enough. They took the road brazenly enough, showing no sign of wariness until they passed the Marshes, slipping carefully off into the hills.
And now, here they were, not going to a secret camp as the young Rohirrim had expected and hoped, but meeting with golbins! Warily it's true, but not in battle.
As she watched, one great brute shoved its way out of the pack, jabbering and pointing at the leader of the Men, a darkhaired rough looking fellow, even from this distance. In the twilight, the newcomer bore a pale mark on its face, a caked-on white splayed hand, visible even in the twilight! Scarely daring to breathe, Cyndwin peered through the grass, wishing she had Xanderian and her bow beside her...Her thoughts strayed, and she brought them back with in inward shake, peering out again.
Something - frustratingly far and dim! - Something, was changing hands! A lumpy package tossed from the goblin pack, but landing with a betraying rattling clink of coins - and in return something..something long and wrapped in an old cloak - a sword? a staff? who could tell?
A soft curse escaped, and the nearest warg raised its snout ears pricking! "Well..." the girl mutters, "I AM about to overstay my welcome..." slipping backwards off the ridge, with many a backward glance, half expecting a baying river of wargs, and a howling of goblins, she slips to where Fairwind waits.
