Rangers

The cold is inside me now. Though I wear the beautiful cloak he gifted to me, I am a numb thing. An icemaiden. The night is old, moves its weary way to its inevitable end. I have no pity for it and no interest.

He is gone to his own solitude and I am encased in mine. I tried to sleep, a pain in my chest awoke me, an icicle as sharp as a betrayal. I see it now he is gone, what I have done. The first steps of the oathbreaker. I am horrified at myself, look at my own hands writing, loathing them as they move and record my own folly.

Ease returns. We walked out northwards to the ice wall with the misunderstandings fresh between us. We came back to the hearth with them set aside.

There is a space to the right of me that is his. The furs keep his great shape, a hollowing pressed into the lie of each hair. I run my hand lightly over that cold form as he stands brooding over the quiet valley.

She is singing. In all my days I have never heard such. She has been singing for half the day. The first real sounds I have had from her ... and she is singing. As we neared the glooming hills and narrow passes she opened her lips ... and a thread of colour came forth. The sound comingled with the cries of the suprised birds, enticed them to open their throats and join her.

My body is heavy and languid, yesterday's journey settled in my limbs. I am careful not to spill ink on the furs, but I am too content in my warmth to move. We scouted the northern route from here towards the ice wall. I would know what I face before we move on properly.

A delightful day. Yes. I rode with the elf maid obedient beside me, and my few men about me. North from the crowded, fetid encampment, out into the hills around the northmens' camp, Esteldin.

Now he is gone I can try to absorb what has happened. I am so used to his presence it seems strange to sit alone in the space two have filled. I thought the nights here were silent; now I hear the spaces where his breath is not, the rasp of his thumb over his emerging beard, his rare laugh.

I watch her pull up the hood of the cloak that I have given her. Enveloped in its sable folds, clad in the black dress, her face shines softly, the moon in clouds. She has been enclosed in this tent for long enough, it is time to move her to more fitting accomodation.

I pull back the flap of the tent sharply. The first true light for her in many a day. I see her eyes open to receive the starlight, turning her face in yearning before, senses opened, the shock of the scene before her slaps her back to reality.