================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Morning < About 9:15 AM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 47 Iavas <Autumn>
Moon phase: Waning Gibbous <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Thu Aug 09 20:05:13 2007
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Crossroads in the Forest
You've reached the part of Lorien where the Naith gives way to the Egladil of Lorien, or "angle", which stretches away for many more miles to the south. The pathways here are well traveled, a firm roadway of short golden grass, and lead off in many directions.

Of most notable distinction, it seems that up ahead to the East the forest gives way to some strange sort of hill, though you can't make out the details of it from this distance. To be sure, though, in all directions the Mallorn trees stand guard along the sides of this path, along with whatever it is that seems to have following you and watching you while you have walked through this blessed forest, this Lothlorien, this Dream-flower.

Contents:
Galharth
Maglind
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As the morning dew evaporates under the growing warmth of the midmorning sun, birds flitter happily from tree to tree around the Crossroads. A brisk breeze blows from the northwest, carrying the scents of distant lands. Something rumbles to the far north, but its source remains unseen. Perhaps a storm lays ahead?

With a small pack slung over his shoulder, the Tailor Galharth hurries towards the group gathering. "Thank goodness! I was afraid I would be late." the clothier says as he comes to a stop in the center of the clearing.

"We were just about to leave," calls Maglind cheerfully from a tree's branch, "but we didn't know where you were going!"

Tumbling to the ground in a flutter of leaves, the warden dusts off his hands. "Are you ready, Galharth?"

Down the hill from the east comes another of the Galadhrim -- long stride, leisurely gait, and non-descript demeanour. The figure is not in any apparent, particular hurry, but neither does he tarry.

Within a few moments, Haldir is discernable as said figure. One hand rests absently upon hilt of longsword, but it lifts as the guard comes to a halt at the edge of the crossroads, placed over brows, as if to shield gaze from the sun.

"What is this?"

Following the Warden's decent, the clothier lifts a brow when the Guard finally lands upon the ground. "Alas, I'd already crossed the bridge and started along the white path when I realized that I'd forgotten the twine." Shrugging his shoulders, he drops his small pack at his side. "I had to go all the way back to get it. Cost me an extra hour on travel time, but at least I'm ready."

Taking a step north, Galharth pauses at first the sight of the approaching figure, and then the sound of the Marchwarden's voice. "What do you mean, Haldir?"

"I see," says Maglind, before he turns and spots the other. "Good morning, Marchwarden. We are leaving for the borders." This he says nonchalantly, but the faint flicker of worry is in his eyes.

"This!"

Haldir is either thoroughly baffled or feigning ignorance, but the glimmer of uncertainty that resides in gaze belies the former. He gestures to the camp and the packs:

"Not that I would prevent any patrol, as I simply am curious: what brings such a strange gathering to leave the Woods?"

A shrug lifts shoulders, and he waits.

Glancing round the crossroads, the Tailor furrows his brow in confusion. "Strange gathering?" Galharth says as he stops his search when his gaze falls upon the Marchwarden. "Guards and Couriers often times go out on patrol. Do they not?"

"We are going to bring back the rest of Galharth's catapult," answers Maglind, and his brow furrows. "Has something happened?"

"Guards 'oft go upon patrol, as do couriers -- when they are not being a bother. But tailor's seldom do, especially a tailor who has spoken of not wishing to do so, in the past!"

Haldir gives a non-descript gesture to the crossroads and then northwards, another shrug.

"I know of naught to have happened. Though, that area is both safe and ill."

"I am a Courier as well!" Galharth protests quickly, pointing to himself to emphasis his point. "And while I'm not to eager to go galavanting off to points unknown, I do wish to retrieve the remains of my catapult before it draws attention from those who might do us harm."

Offering the Marchwarden a frown, Galharth adds in a lower voice, "And I'm not likely to be much of a bother."

"There is a sentinel in our company, and we are small enough to flee, if we are attacked," says Maglind. "Will it be all right? I heard there were prints outside the foothills."

"A courier, aye, but a tailor in my mind -- it will save you abuse and derision," adds Haldir, a touch of jest and humor faintly evident in voice, though it is most serious.

"I had not heard. And do not ask for my approval, Maglind! You are more than competent, and can lead it with ease: I have my own patrol to see to.

"Ah! The catapult. What will you do with it?"

"At least something will save me." Galharth chuckles softly. Shaking his head, he peers from the Warden to the Marchwarden, "I've no idea what will be done with it. I'd like to see it come to some use, as any crafter will of something they've made." Bending down, he hoists the small pack over his shoulder. "I'll have to think about it, but in the end, I'll likely turn it over to the Order, along with the net."

"But imagine the possibilities," intones Haldir, still a touch of amusement in tone, "that exist! You could have it set to launch cloth to your place of work; or invent a new way to crush grapes by flinging them at a wall; or ..."

He trails out, again lifting shoulders in a shrug, lapsing to silence.

"Or I could set it up so the elflings could play the game of tossing eachother as Rhibi did." Galharth says flatly. "But why wouldn't I? That very action got the Catapult banned from the city." Taking a step towards the north, he pauses and looks around again. "Mia hasn't made it yet? Do you think she could have taken off ahead?"

"It is possible," muses Haldir, glance tentatively flicking northwards, tracing the direction of the master craftsman.

"She may yet trail behind. Her plants are of most importance. She could be bidding them farewell. Giving last instructions to the poor apprentice who must watch them." 5r

"I'd sooner believe that she's setting a prank to go off whilst we're out of the wood." Galharth says with a shake of his head. "What better way to appear most innocent, then to not be around to blame." Taking several steps along the path, he turns and glances at the Guards. "I'm going to set off ahead and see if she's stopped at the Field Hospital. I'll meet up with you before the border." Lifting a hand, he offers a wave before he turns and heads north.