Zir

The Appearance of Danel who, in reality was the shapeshifting Khahaynd of Umbar, sat down in a small hollow that was partially shielded from the easterly wind. She patted the mossy ground beside her with a small but strong hand “Estarfin, come, keep me warm; Culufinnon can make the fire for us when he returns,” she said, carelessly botching the name of the insignificant Captain of Celondim as she tried to soften her commanding tone.

There was a familiar sensation, as if he was standing in a storm with forked lightning overhead. Not painful, just strange. He sniffed the air and smelt wet dog. It was him who stunk. Before him stood Khahaynd, only she looked exactly like the She-Elf, her features and outfit identical in every detail. The sorceress smiled seductively and batted her eyelashes. 

Zir yawned silently. 

He was Cat. He did not make noise unless he intended to. He was silent, observant, and patient.

It had been a long ride more than a difficult one. The path from Bree to Angmar was not well-worn, neither were there welcoming places to stay, not even for one such as her. Khahaynd had known that when she set out she would be on her own until she reached Lady Zairaphel’s house. But difficult? Nay, there were Men around Trestlebridge, but not the sort she would waste any time on. They were not interesting nor threatening enough for her.

Khahaynd remained in Calla’s house, in Bree, for two days. She knew she was nearing her goal, and that time was important. She also knew information was important. She would take all she could find to her Mistress. 

The ride had taken two more weeks. Fortunately a considerable amount of time had been through uninhabited lands, so she had not had to use any energy in maintaining an illusion. She had followed the south road, through Enedwaith, and across the Gwathlo at Tharbad and on to Herne. She knew from that time forward the roads would be busier, she would need the best illusions she could muster. 

She had been watching the children of the Caru-Luth playing near the tents. Scruffy, grubby little urchins for the most part, but they were full of laughter and jest. They enjoyed their meager lives, they enjoyed competing against each other in mostly friendly fights. Some had short shaggy ponies, and they raced them round the settlement, calling for adults to ‘beware, for the young warriors were training’. And the adults looked on, smiling as they recalled their own childhoods.

The journey to Ethring was almost a holiday for Khahaynd. Not needing to use her skills to disguise herself, Zir or Tarih, she felt overflowing with energy and expectations. Only one rider passed her, and he riding a swift bay horse, and dressed like a messenger bearing the Steward’s livery. He did not stop at the sight of a beautiful woman garbed in brown silk gown and head covering, riding a noble black mare with silver mane and tail.