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Estarfin, whatever happens, know I will never choose to leave you. Others have suffered such fears as I, but I am of an old and high blood line. I shall not quail. Be safe, meldanya. Be cunning. Perhaps even open your thoughts to me, rather than shutting yourself away? I know that is asking much of you at this time, but I can do no other.
The sky was predictably darkening by the time the four Elves turned across the rugged land to the walls of the Dourhand port. Yrill dismounted from her horse and made her way through the rocks and undergrowth to assess the gate. She turned in surprise: Estarfin was lurking close beside her. Her own skills had not alerted her to his presence, and she realised she had underestimated him.
Ceuro took the empty plate and goblet and headed back down from the lookout spot on the ridge. He had endured something of an onslaught from the angry Filignil. She was still on duty, and would be for another hour, and she was not at all amused that she had only just had the day’s happenings explained to her. The Housekeeper-come-Guard was a swift shot with a bow. None would enter Numenstaya without her knowing, and her permission.
She returned nigh midday, to find Estarfin speaking casually with the Dwarven workers about the wall building. He hailed her as she rode past him to the stables. Despite his earlier words, he did not seem particularly at ease.
So there they were, after quite a long ride, taking a small rest in the village of Oatbarton.
"At least we can stock up a bit on food and water." Lithea said, not as much thinking of her lack of lunch as what they would eat in the coming days. Evendim lay before them, and it was better known fer its tomb robbers than for its hospitality.
They pulled up their ponies at Bob Proudfoots place. He was known to Tolbold as being a trustworthy fellow.