Tancamir

They had covered a decent amount of ground in a day, Tancamir reflected drily. Luthelian was spirited, and their tempers often clashed, but they had still managed to make some progress on their scouting trip. There was no sign of the frost-giant Lord Dolthafaer had seen by the frozen pool a day before, but they had seen goblin-fires on the heights, and  found goblin-arrows  and signs of a scuffle on the path leading east.

The sound of running water met the scrape of steel against bone as Tancamir crouched by a small streamlet. He held an enormous curved horn in one hand, scraping flesh and fat from it with the blade of his dagger. It was easily the length of his forearm, cruelly ridged and with a pointed curl at one end. But it was surprisingly light and hollow, weighing only a fraction of what it seemed. He grinned to himself as bits of flesh fell off the end of the horn, until it was polished and clean. Swiftly he plunged the horn into the ice-cold water, then drew it out and laid it on the snow.

The icy wind came to meet her in great force as soon as she opened the heavy iron door to the outside. The storm still raged on, winds howling across the mountainsides, sweeping the snow across the landscape. Yet it was better than the confines of the inner keep, packed to the brim with warm bodies and stale air. Besides, it was nearly stifling to be in such close proximity with Tancamir any longer.

The cold was as bitter as ever, the mountain passes as inhospitable as before. That much Tancamir remembered from the last expedition the Arrows had made to the Hithaeglir. But now they travelled slowly, scouting the path ahead so that the Hammers and other members of the company might have a secure path to tread. And there was  much stopping, and camping, and assigning of watches. He scowled. If the Arrow were not so encumbered by the progress of the others, they could have made it halfway to the Southern High Pass by now.

Aldúya, the 1st day of Lairë

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Isilya, the 54th day of Tuilë

In the forest near Esteldín, TA 2989

"Halt! Who goes there?" Tancamir whirled around as three hooded figures dropped from the trees above, and moved to stand protectively in front of his sister. Uilossiel looked about with wide eyes. Clutching her brother's cloak in one hand, she whispered, "Who are they?"

One of the figures approached and threw back his hood. It was a Man, with clean-cut features and shaggy brown hair. He carried a longbow and bore a silver brooch upon his shoulder, shaped like a star.

Another day in icy Vindurhal, and the snow-storms are still blowing. I am writing this by candlelight, though it be almost midday, because it is so cold and bleak.

From her post high on the cliff, Luthelian watched the fire in the camp crackle against the wood, throwing its heat across the sleeping figures. Some paces away, she saw Tancamir standing watch over the frozen lake and beyond. Her eyes followed his back more often than she would have liked since his return.