A waxing moon rode over the Bree-lands giving its soft light, more than enough for the eyes of an eagle on the wing for the hunt. Which is precisely what the eagle named Sûlpadron, Windwalker in the Common Tongue, was doing: he was searching for a Man at the behest of the Elf-lady, Seregrían.
This was now dawn of the third day of the hunt, and thus far a fruitless one. The eagle had started his search at the line of the Brandywine just by the great colossus that still rose near the source of the river by Lake Evendim. He had flown the width and breath of the Wildwood, pausing only to rest and feed, and glean tidings from the other creatures of the wood; and here it was he found news.
The birds and beasts of the Wildwood spoke of dark things creeping under the eaves of the trees; orcs and goblins and brigands occupying the old forts and towers; parties of sellswords massing near the town of Men called Trestlebridge; everywhere there were fires and smoke rising. But the brightest and most frightening fires were rising at the ancient ruins of the fortress high above the Starmere. And that was where Windwalker now flew.
The moon was riding lower in the west and foredawn was approaching, when Windwalker circled high above the ruins on the heights. The smell of burnt flesh and cloth were on the wind, fading fast. From the airs, he spied a man-figure, struggling on the stones beneath him. He let out a trilling cry - and was surprised to hear a trill as if in answer. Circling lower, he could tell the figure was a Man, bound and possibly injured, obvious even at his height. He alighted near the man, slowly walking towards him, watching him with a bright golden eye. The man looked at him, one eye horribly ruined, but smiling slightly.
“Thou art injured, but not gravely, I deem” Sûlpadron spoke. “Dost thou have a name?”
“I am Cutch Crane,” the injured man said. “Are you not Windwalker, friend of Seregrían?”
“I hath found thee at last,” Windwalker said, “thou art the Cutch-man I was bidden to seek. I cannot bear thee away from this place, but I can summon aid, and bring tidings unto those who seek thee.”
“There is a camp of men in a clearing to the north of here, and there is an Ent nearby. Bring whoever will follow but beware, there is a Wizard about – one that bears ill will.”
“Yea, I hath spied the camp of Men, but I shant fly close, for they might shoot with their arrows. There are no signs or rumor of an Onod or a Wizard. Thou art quite alone here, Cutch-man. Dost thou need aid in freeing thyself?”
“Yes, if you can just free my hands.” The eagle moved closer and began to bite and gnaw at the ropes on Cutch’s wrists.
“Did Seregrían send you? Is she safe from here?”
“Yea, the LadyRedElf sent me to find thee, once she learned thou were not dead, but merely in hiding. Had she learned afore, I might have brought these tidings long ago.”
“She is more precious to me than I am to myself, so I kept it from her.”
“I bring with me a token of hers, which she bade me show unto thee, should I find thee.”
Cutch snapped the last thread of his bonds and began to work at the bonds on his feet, but slowly, his hands not quite obeying him. Windwalker lent his aid once more “What token of hers is this?“
Windwalker extended his talon, with a pouch attached. “Take thou this - it is meant for none save thee, thus saith the LadyRedElf.”
Cutch opened the pouch with fumbling fingers and took out the two phials, examining them in the moonlight. One red, one blue. His eye moistened and he smiled. After a moment, he carefully mixed them together and put them back in the pouch. "Tell her I love her, and I am coming to her... if she will still have me.”
“The two phials – joined,” Windwalker said. “I shall bear thy message to Her, Cutch-man. But know this: thy captors are abroad, and none are near. Thou art freed from thy bonds. If thou canst move, then leave this place with all speed. I shall be aloft and shall watch for thee. None shall mark thy passage whilst I am close at wing.”
“I will make my way to the camp on the road to the south, called Adso’s. Do you know if the way there is safe?”
“Nay, it is not, not directly. If thou art strong enough, take thy path east to the lake called Starmere, and then make thy way south to that camp. The moonlight shows any pursuit, they cannot hide from me.”
Cutch nodded and rose unsteadily to his feet, tearing his sleeve to make a bandage for his eye. “You bear an important message, and it must get through. Do not sacrifice yourself for me. She must know from you what happened here.”
“Fear not, Cutch-man. The LadyRedElf shall have her tidings, this I swear. But now, make haste - the night is passing, and the Moon favors thy leaving. Now, I bear a token of thine for the LadyRedElf; hast thou no words to send?”
“As I said, tell her I love her and am coming to her if she will have me. My foolishness here is done. If you can, seek Claywick Cob, or Caladna Greenlake in Bree and tell them to find me at Adso’s camp.”
“Then that shalt suffice. I go now to Her side, but first as near to Bree as is safe to do. Until our next meeting, Cutch-man, beloved of the LadyRedElf!” With that, Sûlpadron spread his wings and lifted into the air, soaring above the river and the plains to the south, turning south-east, a dark receding speck against the lightening sky. Cutch raised his hand in farewell at the departing eagle and turned away, finding a trail that led away south and east towards Starmere.
