At first the way had been swift through familiar hills and woods, and, driven on by the wizard's urgency, and by the dire signs she'd found -- the campsite that had become a battle, the blood, the signs of someone dragged away with the fire unbanked -- she'd given no thought to hunting, despite the lack of a breakfast. And that had proven to be an ill choice. The lands changed, turned dark, as the river arced away to the west and the hills became the sort full of unseemly beasts and little worth the hunting. Now she huddled in the hills of a strange and ominous land, her belly empty and her heart full of uncertainty. The encounter with the wizard felt too unreal to be believed; in fact, had she not found the trail, she would be sure it was only a fever dream. For a time she doubted. I am not the equal of this challenge; it should not have been me. I am only a hunter. My greatest duty was to keep the fires lit by night. My failure is like to end in the death of myself and Duin and Haleth too.
She was about to whistle for Duin and turn around when she thought about the wizard's words. "I have had my eye on you since before you could walk." The tales she'd heard around campfires about the Grey Wizard were grand and full of promise. A wanderer, known to the heroes of the Dúnedain, counsel of kings, they said. "You seem to have raised yourself to be quite capable just as I have need of your skills." If such a man would say such a thing about her, perhaps there was some hope, for though she could not see it, she had not the eyes of a wizard. Hope was a scant supper but it would have to do.
