================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Afternoon < About 3:41 PM >
IC day is: Orbelain <Valar-day>
IC date is: 11 Echuir <Stirring>
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: Sun Sep 30 07:14:01 2007
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Galadhrim Camp
You find yourself among a party of traveling elves. Gray tents are scattered about, camouflaged and hidden discreetly among the grass. All is quiet, and yet all seems busy, as the Quendi go about their daily camp routines with a dreamlike quality. Some tend to the food, while others tend to the tents and other gear. The camp has no quality of permanence about it, as it has noticably moved further on its journey each day.

Contents:
Thorhur
Tolur
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The sun remains hidden behind the thick grey clouds that cover the sky, promising more snow upon nightfall. The trees in this part are scarce and dead, and a hard layer of snow in the process of melting covers the ground. The world is quiet, preparing to awake, as the last of winter slowly makes it way over Middle Earth.

Right outside the camp, the sound of an arrow being shot is heard, as one of the camp stands a short distance from one of the many dead trees. On the tree a piece of wood is used as a rude target, and the elleth nearby is the Sentinel Thorhur. Taking up another arrow he pulls the string back on the longbow and releases an arrow, watching it whizz through the air towards the tree.

"Practice makes perfect, mellon," Tolur says as he approaches the Sentinel, "I admire your dedication with the bow." Gliding over the top of the snow, the Warden's step is light and leaves no trace of movement. His grey cloak swirls around his legs as his movement and bursts of breeze send it into motion.

Crossing his arms over his chest, his brow furrows in thought. "Perhaps the crafters might teach us the art of fletching so that we could take the time during out patrols to make or repair our arrows."

"That would be useful," Thorhur replies warmly, taking a deep breath and turning away from his crude target. "I have broken too many arrows with the Order." the Sentinel does not smile but his eyes shine with excitement as he turns towards the North. "What do you think we will find to the North? There are worse things than uruks that roam our world, but the yrch are on good terms with many of those creatures. Could it be that perhaps that troll Grot still roams the North?"

"To be honest, I think we'll find nothing on this patrol," Tolur says with a light smile. As he turns towards the north, his furrowed brow smoothes and the deeply inhales the fresh cool air. "There is indeed worse than Uruk, and even worse than that beast Grot."

Lowering to one knee, he taps the frozed snow. "It's the time of year winter is in it's last moments, and the spring rains struggle for domination. I would think the dark creatures are anxious for the reopening of their northern lands, so this is where we might find them. We should speak with Maglind about moving us further north."

Thorhur furrows his brow at the Warden's words, and then nods. "Yes..." he says quietly, more to himself than Tolur. A gust of cold wind makes him shiver slightly as he takes a step towards the Warden, the snow crunching under his feet. "How far north would we go? Past Mirkwood itself, into the lands of Rhun?"

"We'd only search as far as the Beorning borders. This was the command Legarwin gave." Tolur says quickly. "Any further, we'd bring a member of the Royal Court." Rising upwards, the Warden turns to gaze at Thorhur. "Thraundil keeps watch over the lands in which you speak."

Thorhur nods slowly, his eyes on the ground. Something has caught his sight. Kneeling in the snow he examines what he seeks before he raises his voice to Tolur. "Warden you must see this! Faded tracks I have found, going both east and west! They are old indeed, but show that many feet tramped this ground!"

Nodding, the Warden looks down upon the tracks mentioned. "The ranger mentioned the age of the tracks, and it's been suggested that these are tracks from the time in which they spent harrassing our borders." Stepping past the Sentinel, northwards he holds a hand over his eyes to soften the glare. "For now, I think we have peace uopn our borders."

"Yes," Thorhur replies softly. "However, the tracks are crucial. If we want to find the yrch who did harass us we must see in which direction the tracks lead."

"They lead into the mountains Thorhur, and to the points north of our wood. It has been this way since the Dwarves awakened the evil." Tolur says as he continues to look northwards. "It is the tracks leading northwards that we know little about. Myself, I'd say a quick inspection of the Beorning Lands would reveal much."

"Those are the tracks I was referring to," Thorhur explains, standing up and looking towards Tolur. "It is well that we still deal with the Beornings, for their lands hold many secrets...and much evil."

"Ah," Tolur says turning back to glance at the Sentinel. "You had said the East and West tracks." Moving back to stand near Thorhur, he shrugs his shoulders. "And for the Beornings, who can say what relationship we have. It comes, it goes. One can never really tell how a Bear might react."

Thorhur grins at Tolur but says nothing for a while. Instead his eyes remain fixed upon the North, as if trying to pierce the endless leagues of the earth to find the evil. He sighs deelply but continues to be silent.

"Ah well, I suppose we'd better find Maglind so that we can move along." Tolur says as he steps away from Thorhur and disappears along the opposite edge of the camp.