Estarfin

Henepa looked apologetically at the elves. They were not unmoved by her predicament, her ragged and filthy clothes and her pain shadowed eyes, but they had their own quest, their own folk to rescue urgently. 

The Captain nodded at the water skin. “Keep it,” he said to her.

Estarfin halted beside the bodies of the other Men. Dismounting briefly, he took up two half-filled water skins and a handful of gold coins from the corpses. He took a cautious sip from one water-skin then, with a look of unexpected surprise, drank a mouthful or two. He held the skin out to the others. 

The storm of the previous night had been fierce, almost as if foreshadowing a mighty clash of arms. Rain had struck the roofs of the fortress and the surrounding ground like the arrows of an attacking army; trees as strong as any senchenal were battered, their limbs ripped from them, some even fell under the continued assault. In my room in the tower I had felt like hiding away under the bed, I had wanted to hide, but it just would not do.

"I don't like wolves." Lithea Glenwood. 

Estarfin nodded as the houses behind him went up in flames. The village of dry wood would burn until nothing was left but a pile of ashes, and perhaps a poisonous haze.

Estarfin turned and began to carefully scramble down the rocks. His hair and armour were covered in a fine dust, his expression set and determined. 

“We find them,” he said, as if it were an irrefutable outcome. 

Estarfin….beloved...I saw you for a moment, I heard your voice, calling to me. I hear it still in thought and I reach out to you. 

But I could not answer you in words. I knew what would happen if I did.

Nan Amlug East was a long vale that bordered on the foothills of Angmar. A land of rolling hills and thick forested groves, it was home to many a warg pack and herds of aurochs. But there were other inhabitants too, one of whom had given the area its name. 

It rained a little, of course. How could it not rain on them? But they kept up a good pace over the farm and grasslands of Annundir, into the gently rolling hills of the West. It was a trail Yrill had only followed a few times before, being far more a haunt of Men than of Elves. She knew the way, but not much of the surrounding land.