Chapter Eight: Searching Swinging into the treetops, Uruviel sought refuge immediately in the higher boughs. She had seen one to many Hunts to know it was safer to get out of the way during the first few hours of the game. Besides, it was unlikely, for all her ability, that she would be able to oust any of her fellow competitors in a one-on-one wrestling match. Scanning the treetops for a hint of blue, any shimmering sign of the banner's hiding place, she searched - quick elven eyes picking out any unnatural flash in the environment. All around her, the sun's warm rays glinted off of the jewel necklaces, pointing out many easy targets. More than once, elves she knew - and some she didn't - scrambled up the branches after her, wicked grins on their faces, thinking they would steal her necklace away and put an end to it. It was to her amusement that she was able to dangle their own in front of their faces, having taken them before they had even known she was there. She pocketed each one, marvelling only for a moment at the collection of silver, gold, and green. Her own necklace she stuffed unceremoniously down her shirt - hoping that it would somewhat more safeguarded there. If the others wanted it, they would have to reach in and grab it - she wasn't going to help them in the least. Only when she was certain that she was a safe distance from her competition, and invisible in her high barricades, did she stop to give her mind a moment to wander. All night she had been consumed with thoughts of being in the competition, she hadn't given a moment to thinking about the location of the banner, or where Elrond could have possible hidden it. The playing field spanned the entire valley, there were a million places her uncle could have put it - each as likely as the last. She knew where the banner had been hidden in the past, and knew that Elrond was not likely to recycle hiding places. Still - that left a great deal of the Valley to be searched. Peering at the forest floor, she attempted to get inside Elrond's head - a feat for any elf. Assuming his identity, she got inside the elf lord's mind, tracing his footsteps from the previous night and following his thought patterns. Every time she attempted to question the location of the banner, she drew a blank - finding only an empty blackness. She could not imagine anything that would point to the ensign's hiding place. Elrond was not the sort of person to leave tracks. Fighting his way into the forest, Haldir knocked down adversary after adversary. It was one thing to turn around and eliminate elves he barely knew, kinsfolk from Imladris and Mirkwood. It was another to see border guards, the elves he commanded, stalking him, with every intention of taking him out of the running. More than once he found himself facing a group of elves, all ready to pounce. He dispatched each of them, without ceremony. Pausing for the briefest moment to catch his breath, he scanned the vast expanse of his playing field. Sharp eyes caught traces of gold, brown, green, red, silver, and all imaginable colours of the earth, except for blue. Wherever Elrond had hidden his prize, it was not in this place. Moving forward, his feet whispered across the ground like wind, rustling through the amber grass. All of his senses were on high alert, cautious and careful. His eyes searched for indentions in the grass - footprints. His ears listened, waiting for any soft fluttering noise. His very nerves seemed on fire with a soldier's sense - a sixth sense and radar for danger. In his mind, he went through location after location, recalling where he had previously found the banner, recalling how he had found it. Time after time he had found tracks, distinct markings and patterns. This competition was a hunt, it had been so for years and even through the ages it would always remain. It was a hunter's duty, then, to continue the tradition and use tracking skills, and other wares to locate the prize - and win. A warning went off at the base of his neck, dragging his gaze downward. A rounded pockmark of sorts was set into the ground, no more than a few centimetres - but enough to leave traces of its existence. From past experience Haldir knew it to be the exact diameter of the ensign's staff - the wooden pole the banner was attached to. Intellect told him the mark was recent, very recent - probably only made the day before. Elrond may have been weightless when he travelled - but his quarry was not. Following the drag mark as if it were an arrow pointing him in the right direction, he set off - rightfully confident of his own prowess. Back |
