Northern Base of Amon Obel
The woods here are as thick as anywhere else in the forest. Even in the daytime, only a greenish glow permeates the space in between the huge trees that reach upwards. Still there is a wholesome feel to the ancient forest, and with a little care the paths from the river to Amon Obel can be found and traversed safely.

The calm cool of evening settles upon Brethil's green-forested land and cloaks the trees in a sort of silver as moon and starlight sift through the verdant boughs and barely reach the forest floor, of a mottled and dappled light. In the distant wood, nightfowl wing and send forth their calls of a solitary nature, though sound is carried of soft and barely felt breezes this deep of the forest.

The camp of the Dorthonions is sheltered here among birch and oak, and several firepits are kept of a warm and bright blazing in the increasing night. Their evening meal past, most sit about the firelight in quiet conversation or thoughtful musings, and every once in a while the attempted tune of a piper is offered at the edge of the camp, though never seems to be played to its finish. Seated near one of the fires, Aldawin turns to gaze across the way. The piper's tune is familiar and at first makes her smile, though upon its repeated half-playing she becomes more curious, and now cranes forward, rising to her knees, to see just what the matter is.

The tall, crackling flames of a nearby fire cast their flickery, fiery glow across Istadris' tanned features where he sits by the roots of an ancient, immense oak tree. The injured woodsman's well worn spear haft rests across his knees, and he stoops forward over it to offer one of the Beorian healers clear access to his mauled left arm. The stern-faced healer tugs gently at the lean man's bandages, undoing the swaddled cloth bindings that conceal the slowly-healing gashes across his upper arm and shoulder. Istadris grimaces with obvious displeasure, occasionally wincing and biting lightly at his lips to stifle pained gasps. Even as the healer unbinds the ghastly arm wounds, however, his sharp eyes are drawn across the gathering, and he too searches in through the gloom for the source of the piper's half-hearted tune.

Also sitting near the fires is Emeldir, though she seems otherwise occupied, her gaze drawn towards the flickering orange flames. A shawl is draped over her shoulders loosely, keeping her back warm as she face the warmth of the fires, her legs crossed atop a soft blanket spread over the soft, still cool ground. The familiar tune of the pipe takes her thoughts back to Dorthonion, wondering what will become of Barahir and Beren.

Opposite, Aldawin, seated on a log nearby is the young messenger Sionell, her red hair catching the fiery tones of the leaping flames as they flicker, upwards in carefree abandon. The crackling of the wood and twigs, and the fiery sparks of ash, spouting intermittantly from the fire, holds her gaze and attention longer than the tune does. Held in slightly curled fingers, is a quill pen and several scratches have already been made on the parchment she holds. Her grey eyes, drifts to the moon..and for the passins moment, the lass simply observes, quietly, her gaze now skimming the faces, some still shrouded in shadow around the fire.

Istadris shifts and fidgets impatiently as the healer slowly unwraps the bandages from his arm. His features twist with a frustrated scowl, and he pointedly avoids looking down upon his own scarred flesh. "Stay still, Istadris!" Instructs the experienced Beorian healer in a sharp voice, "Or we shall never finish." With a low, resigned sigh, the injured man settles down upon the soft, grassy soil. His right hand stretches backwards, and he presses his palm against the smooth-worn root of the great oak he sits by for support. "M'lady Emeldir..." He calls aloud suddenly to she who sits by the nearby fire, "Has Corrin spoken to you of what was decided?"

Again the piper's tune commences, and again it falters at the same point. Aldawin shakes her head and hums the rest of the tune with a quiet chuckle following. "I wonder if he has forgotten it," she murmurs at first to herself, but rising to her feet turns to Sionell. "If Eril were here, he would surely have done something by now." Her gaze to the edge of the camp unhindered, she now can see it is but a lad, and one she had seen talking with her brother when they were encamped at Anach. "Tis clear enough now," she says with a wistful smile, looking to Sionell again. "Eril took upon himself some pupils while at the fort." The grey gaze travels once again to the camp's perimiter, and in its scope sees the Lady Emeldir in seeming contemplation and Istadris being tended to by one of the healers, though she awaits to see if the messenger has aught to say in reply.

As Istadris calls to her, Emeldir draws her thoughts together, looking up from the flickering flames of the fire, "Good even, Istadris. Nay, I have not yet spoken with Corrin again," she admits, frowning slightly at the delay. "The Haladin keep much to themselves, and may feel uneasy even in letting their brethren from Dorthonion stay," she confides quietly, the furrows in her forehead deepening briefly. She eyes Istadris more closely now, inquiring, "How is your arm healing, Istadris? I trust ye have not been giving the healers a hard time, have you?" she prods, knowing the former ranger all to well.

A smile, touches the messenger's lips at the healer's words and Sionell nods, her gaze resting on the lady. "It...was familiar but I could not place..it. "she offers, shaking her head albit wistfully. "They..have yet to learn the last perhaps.."she adds, quirking an eyebrow and smiling faintly as the tune floats upon the air once more before halting suddenly on the same note.."at least..it occupies them.."she murmers, turning her attention slightly to the young lads, playing not too far off. "At least...if keeps them out of trouble.."she comments dryly, reminicing of mudpies and mischeif in days past. "How do you fare...is it better..the wounds Aldawin?" she asks, her grey eyes falling once more on the lady in question, in askance.

The wounded man's glittery eyes widen a fraction, betraying mild surprise at Emeldir's response. "I had thought the others may have brought word to you..." He utters, before shaking his head dismissively and following the lady's gaze as she looks to his arm. "Aye, my wounds are closing well, m'lady." He declares, even as the healer by his side tugs gently at his wrist and lifts his arm to pull away the last of the old bandages. The lean Beorian winces faintly, and draws a sharp breath of the smokey air. "Corrin spoke to me this morning." He explains, while waving away the healer's quiet command to keep still, "He said Lord Haldir shall come to speak with you soon, m'lady. That we are to remain here, where it is safe, until they have decided."

As if summoned by the mention of his name, that self-same Corrin and two others of the Haladin come into view, speaking first with one of the Beorian scouts who keeps watch upon the perimeter of the camp. The Haladin having been expected, the trio are soon guided towards where Emeldir and Istadris converse, drawing much attention from those they pass on the way there.

She watches Istadris reaction to the healer, Emeldir stifling a chuckle at his un-ease with treatment, as usual. Her attention is drawn back to the matter at hand, however, as Istadris shares with her the news he heard from Corrin, causing her frown to deepen further. "Well, we are safe enough here, though twould certainly be more .. welcoming. At least we know that Lord Haldir is aware of our arrival," she comments briefly.

"Aye, that it does," Aldawin agrees softly, turning back to Sionell. "Though even at Anach, the children were well-behaved for the most part." She grins of a memory. "Except for overturning that trough when we first arrived," she says with a shake of her head and an expression worn of mischief. Her gaze is pulled once more to the lad who tries yet again to finish the tune, but in another moment she is sitting back down to heed the warmth of the flickering flames. A quick glance to her left arm is followed with an answer to Sionell's inquiry. "I fare well enough, thank you. It is but an annoyance, really, which I try to ignore--" Any else that might have been said is interrupted as Corrin enters the camp, and as most gathered turn to acknowledge the warden's arrival, Aldawin's attention is drawn away, too.

Sionell nods,a smile curving her lips once more in recollection of naughty children's tales. Yet for the most part, the healer's response is enough to satisfy her and with a slight glance at the lad, she turns towards the newcomers in interest. The quill and paper, soon are tucked away, as she gazes at the trio curiously, her gaze following them to the Lady Emeldir and Istadris.

Istadris' intent gaze is drawn to his scarred upper arm and shoulder. The injured woodsman's teeth grit as the healer applies a cool salve over his gash-marked flesh, and though he keeps silent as she works, his scowl betrays his discomfort. "We can provide for ourselves here, m'lady..." He states, while the healer reaches over for more of her salve, "We have all we need." The hushed stir caused by the Haladin's arrival draws the woodsman's attention, and he flashes his cousin Corrin a brief smile and dip of his head as the other man arrives near the fire's side. "Oy, Corrin." He calls out, only to be silenced by the unceasing treatment of the healer by his side.

Emeldir grimaces, "We might have all we need here, but frankly, I am growing too old and weary to be spending my nights sleeping on the ground!" she mutters to Istadris. Just then, she notices the Haladin Corrin entering the encampment, and quickly rises to her feet, making a low curtsy, "Good evening, milord.. bring ye word from your Lord Haldir yet?" she asks, hopeful.

"Istadris," the Haladin's clipped and accented voice makes the Beorian woodsman's name sound strange and unfamiliar, even though still recognizable. He turns and bows to Emeldir, and says more politely, "My lady Emeldir." Straightening before he continues, Corrin keeps his eyes on Emeldir, even though his two companions do not, looking away from the conversation at hand as if to give it a semblance or illusion of privacy. "Lord Haldir has sent word that you and your people are to be housed with our own until such time as we can erect more dwellings for you. He has been detained for the time being, but hopes to come and speak with you soon. In the meantime, what I would like to do is break up your party into four smaller groups and lead each to a different...village. We dwell in small groups, in Brethil, and cannot house all of you together."

Rising once again from where she sits, Aldawin now approaches the fireside where Emeldir speaks with Corrin. As the younger healer comes into the gleaming play of yellow light from the fire's well-fed flames, she draws to a stop. Her glance settles briefly upon the woodsman and the Lady, but it is given at last to Corrin as he speaks. The words of warden seem to trouble Aldawin, who looks to Emeldir and Istadris in turn quietly.

Her head inclined respectfully, Emeldir listens as Corrin explains the plans to house the Beorian travelers, nodding in acknowledgement. "Thank ye for bringing word from Lord Haldir," she begins, glancing towards Istadris before continuing. "We'll sort our people into four groups and be ready in the morning, if that is not too soon, milord?" she suggests to Corrin, adding, "I should like to be with the group that is taken to the main settlement, if possible."

The injured Beorian edges back to sit against the great oak's massive trunk. The healer at his side emits an exasperated sigh, but shifts in her place to remain close to his unbandaged left arm. "Still, Istadris." She utters, though with seeming resignation, before reaching forth and continuing to smear some of the cool salve across the various gash marks below and across his shoulder. The woodsman winces at the healer's increasingly impatient treatment, but his attention is drawn still to the fire by which the Lady sits in conversation with Corrin. "Where will you take each of the groups?" He asks aloud, while laying a steadying hand upon the haft of the spear that rests by his legs.

Corrin scratches his head for a moment, then says, "There isn't really a main settlement, my lady. But I would be honoured if you would come with the group that is to go to the homes of my family and kin." As Istadris asks his question, Corrin answers in more detail, "One group to the homes of my kin, another to Zafin's dwellings, a third to Josif's group, if you remember all of these names, Istadris, and the last farther down the road a ways to the next village."

Sionell fidgets restlessly, with the pen in her hand, her eyes turned to Aldawin..."what.."she begins and then quietens, the talk between the Haladin and the Lady not quite carrying to her ears. Stilling herself, she begins, skecthing the face of one of the Haladin, men..her eyes lifting to Aldawin in askance. "Are...what are they speaking of..Alda? are we..moving?"she asks,the pen pausing in mid sentence, leaving one long stroke on the parchment.

Already begining to make plans for the morn, which likely include sleeping in a soft bed again, Emeldir looks to Istadris, "I would be most happy to have Istadris work things out with ye, Corrin," she suggests, "particularly since ye are kin. However, if we are to move in the morning, I should get some rest now," she adds, making a low bow of her head. "Good night, milord. I look forward to moving to a village tomorrow, and especially to meeting with Lord Haldir," she says.

Sionell fidgets restlessly, with the pen in her hand, her eyes turned to Aldawin..."what.."she begins and then quietens, the talk between the Haladin and the Lady not quite carrying to her ears. Stilling herself, she begins, skecthing the face of one of the Haladin, men..her eyes lifting to Aldawin in askance. "Are...what are they speaking of..Alda? are we..moving?"she asks,the pen pausing in mid sentence, leaving one long stroke on the parchment.Having realised at last that the healer as left , a sheepish smile, forms on her lips and the lass can only chuckle quietly at herself. Rising, she makes her way towards them, her eyes curious.

Hearing the hushed but stern commands of the fellow healer that attends to the woodsman, Aldawin raises her gaze to observe the other's ministrations--and even in her somber thoughts is persuaded to half-smile of Istadris' stubbornness. But the smile fades as she looks once more to Corrin and the Lady Emeldir's departure. "This separation.." Aldawin asks a tentative manner, the grey gaze looking to Corrin. "Are the villages very far apart?"

Corrin sits down after Emeldir leaves, and asks Istadris frankly, "Main settlement? Does she mean the biggest grouping of homes, Istadris? Like at Amon Obel? Or am I misunderstanding your words again?" When Aldawin speaks, he shakes his head, and says, "Not far. A day's journey, no more. There is just no one place where we have enough dwellings for all of you."

Satisfied with her treatment of the wounded Beorian, or else simply fed up with his impatience, the aged healer begins to wind clean bandages around his left arm and shoulder. Istadris' thin lips purse lightly in consideration, and he watches Corrin and the other Beorians through narrowed, curious eyes. "I can not remember those names, I must admit." He says, shrugging unevenly and drawing a deep breath of the cool evening air. Still, the lean woodsman ventures an amused smile at Aldawin's questioning words, and casts the younger healer a brief glance. "My cousin uses the term 'villages' in the loosest sense of the word, Alda." He explains, "We shall likely stay at some post with a handful of scattered lodges deep within the woods." The fallen ranger glances over to his cousin, and dips his head, "Aye, I suppose she meant Amon Obel. The lady enjoys her luxury these days, it seems." He finishes with a wink, before wincing visibly as the healer at his side tightens his bandages.

"In any case," says the brown-haired Haladin, "Make four groups of your people, but one may be half again the size of the others. I will take that group and your lady to Amon Obel. My men will guide the others whence they are to go." Corrin gets back to his feet, and smiles before saying to Aldawin, "When I was a boy, Istadris described your home of Ladros to me, and I would not believe his words. Now I regret I did not go with him to see it. I shall leave you all to rest now." As abrupt as ever, the Warden turns and heads off without waiting for a dismissal, calling to his companions to come with him in his own tongue as he goes.

Sionell walks towards the group, hovering shyly behind the form of Aldawin she peeks everynow and then over the older woman's shoulder, curiously. "Amon...Obel?"she muses, her brow furrowing.."in the woods...deep..in the woods.." A slight quirk of the eyebrow follows , yet as the Warden speaks of ladros, the lass quietens, her expression bodering on wistfulness. "We will at least..be together...some of us..at least.."she murmers more to herself than to the other two. Flickering, her gaze drifts as the Warden departs and nodding politely to Istadris and the healers she, watches them silently as they tend to his bandages. "You are much better Istadris?"she asks, quietly.

Istadris' head dips with acknowledgement as Corrin rises to his feet and prepares to depart. "Aye, we shall have everyone discuss where they would go." He utters, his gaze straying from Corrin to survey the dim, fire-lit encampment that sprawls through the trees around them. "I shall speak with you in the morning, Corrin." The Beorian woodsman glances over to the healer by his side, who still binds the clean bandages over his left arm and elbow. "When will these stay off?" He asks simply, a light frown marring his tanned brow. The aged Beorian woman fails to meet his questioning gaze, though her answer is unhesitant and sure. "Soon enough." She says vaguely, to the other's disapproving stare. The messenger's softly-spoken words draw Istadris' attention to her, and he again dips his head in response. "Aye, that I am." He utters, tapping the spear by his side, "I am well enough to move about on my own, now."

Aldawin finds the woodsman's explanation curious but nods in at least partial understanding as her gaze lifts to the night-shadowed canopy of leaves overhead. She looks back to Istadris and smiles briefly at his responses to the healer though her gaze travels once again to the fire's light. Her muse interrupted by Corrin's departing words, the healer forces a smile as the warden speaks of Ladros, though the eyes are vacant of gladness, and she settles to a singular contemplation once more. Sionell's concerned inquiry is heard, but only impassive glances are offered intermittently as woodsman and messenger continue to converse quietly.

Sionell nods, a smile on her lips. "Well, that is some good news at least. "she says quietly her eyes turning to Aldawin. "I never did understand..all these affairs..of banadges "she shrugs, turning an undiscerning eye to the banadaging around the woodsman's arm. "Might there be any messenges,for me to deliver this night.."she ventures, as if in after thought. "When..shall we move?" It is not clear to whom the latter is addressed for the lass look between them both, in askance.

The wounded man smiles grimly at Sionell and attempts to stretch his mangled arm, only to annoy the healer further, who hastens with her bandaging. "You never did understand this bandaging business?" He asks, amused, "Well in my case, they are used to keep the shredded remnants of my arm from falling apart." With a dismissive shake of his head, Istadris ventures a soft chuckle and glance past Sionell to where Aldawin sits, basking in the crackling fire's warmth. "I have no messages for you to bear..." He answers with an uneven shrug.

The healer by Istadris' side, however, tugs non-too-gently at the stubborn man's bandages and lifts her head to look upon the younger messenger. "I've a message for you to take, lass." She says in a sharp, half-jestful tone, "Tell this fool Istadris to keep still, or I'll have the woodsmen axe his arm off so I may bandage it more easily!"

Her eyes, widening at the healer's comment, Sionell can only laugh quietly looking from the lady's cross face to the unobliging woodsman. Composing herself, she adopts a solemn air and turning to Istadris gravely , one eyebrow raised slightly, her eyes flickering she says dryly. "I believe, the lady would ask that you be still...or there shall be dire consequences forthcoming.."

The exchange between Istadris and the older healer is one not easily ignored, even to Aldawin, who has taken her seat before the fire in troubled musings. But coaxed away from her thoughts for the moment, the younger healer looks to her comrade-of-healing and gives her a gentle admonition, tempered as it is by a wan smile. "If you worked twice as fast and talked half as much, you both would be better off. Men-at-arms are not easily persuaded." The smile broadens of this observation, but seems to be quelled as she looks to Sionell in her asking. "You could not deliver the messages I would send," she says softly, and prods at one of the stones lining the firepit's perimeter with her foot.

Istadris scowls with mock displeasure at the healer's words, and breathes a soft sigh before leaning closer to her and holding his injured arm as still as he may. "I heard what she said!" He grumbles good-naturedly, as Sionell begins to recite her message, "Aye, I'll hold still, if only to have this finished with." The former ranger peers off into the darkened trees beyond the crackling fire's warm glow, his sharp eyes narrowing and strained in the dim, uneven lighting. "Where will the two of you go, once we are split?" He asks of both Sionell and Aldawin, while the healer at his side hurries on, unheeding of the others' words, "Will you accompany the lady?"

Catching, wind of Aldawin's last words, Sionell sighs, looking to the other quietly. Yet, the woodsman's questions, avert her attention and she tilts her head slightly, as if pondering. "I..have not thought..of it much, yet I would go..where I could be of use.."she says slowly, looking slightly confused.

The woodsman's question catches Aldawin by surprise, or at least the expression on her face is betraying of uncertainty. "I suppose it depends upon where my parents will go, though I would hope to stay with Lady Emeldir. There is a matter of some importance regarding your cousin," she says to the woodsman, but glances back briefly to Sionell. "I told Corrin that Lady Emeldir might be of some help in the circumstance, but this evening was not the time to ask after it."

A sudden gust of wind, catches the loose sheaf of papers in her hands and sends them into the air. Gasping, the young messenger, turns...heading off in hot pursuit. Casting a look over her shoulder she calls to them both.."excuse me...I fear..I must retrieve these..."With that, the lass vanishes out of their sight, the only trace of her hasty departure is a sheet of paper, sailing nearby.

With a pleased, satisfied 'Haha!', the aged Beorian healer at last finishes binding Istadris' injured arm. She quickly sets about gathering her materials, all the while gauging the woodsman's expression as she speaks out. "Now was that truly so bad, Istadris?" She asks, teasingly.

The lean Beorian shrugs unevenly and chuckles softly, not daring return the healer's glance as he replies. "Not quite so bad as expected." He says, before turning away and lowering his voice to add, "Though fighting gaur is still preferrable." The woodsman grasps the spear in hand and makes quickly to rise, struggling only briefly with his newly-bandaged arm hanging limply at his side. His gaze is drawn to Sionell as the messenger turns abruptly away to chase her scattered papers, but his steady steps bring him towards the crackling fire's side, beside Aldawin. "What of Corrin?" He asks reluctantly, seemingly puzzled by the the younger healer's words.

At the shuffle and flurry of papers, Aldawin begins to lean forward after one which curls in a current of the wind nearby, but the movement is not kind to her injured arm and shoulder, and with a flinch she leaves the messenger to the task of her own, turning instead to acknowlege Istadris as he approaches, eyeing him with some concealed curiosity. "Are you always so difficult a patient? Fighting a guar over a healer, indeed..." She only regards him a moment, though, for the question that has been asked of her is not of equal mirth. "Corrin's wife Lia is ill. And the signs of her illness do not bode well for either mother or child." This is spoken in as quiet a tone as possible. "I was hoping the Lady could see to her, herself."

The woodsman remains standing near the fire's side, his head dipped forward as he looks upon the seated Aldawin. "Not all of the time." He admits, in answer to her initial question, "But you should know. Have I ever been so difficult with you?" Istadris' vague, half-amused smile fades entirely as the young healer speaks on of Corrin and his wife. With a deepening frown, he at last eases himself down to a crouch by Aldawin. "What is wrong with her?" He questions, noticeably alarmed, "He said nothing to me."

"No, you have not," the healer concedes with a soft smile and an upward glance to the woodsman. The night has advanced to a point where most now turn to sleep, and the fire's leaping flames are lowered with the growing heap of embers at its base. "I have seen it once before, in Ladros. It may not be the malady I fear," Aldawin is quick to say in a hurried assurance of hope. "But as the healers who have tended Lia so far have given no treatment other than rest, I would have the Lady offer another opinion." The low hoot of an owl sounds of the forest in its distance and sheltered blackness, and though Aldawin is at first startled, she looks once more to the woodsman levelly. "He only mentioned it to me when I asked after how Lia was doing. He does not seem predisposed to speak of his troubles."

The injured woodsman's jaw sets as he squats down upon his injured leg, though he bears the discomfort wordlessly and listens attentively to Aldawin's words. "What malady?" He is quick to question, his cool grey eyes widening a fraction. With a low gasp, Istadris settles down to a seat upon the grassy ground and leans back upon his outspread right hand. "He has told me nothing..." He adds, head shaking with frustration, "I hardly recognized him. I would not have known that was Corrin, had he not stated his name to the Lady." The lean adan's gaze strays momentarily towards the leaping flames, before turning sharply back to Aldawin and settling steadily upon hers, "But what is this of his wife?"

Aldawin winces at the woodsman's gasp of pain and notes with a frown his continued annoyance, but the expression softens with Istadris' continued concern as he seeks to find more out about Lia's illness. And so the healer endeavors as best she can to explain, "I have no name for what this illness is. It is a collection of manifestations during pregnancy and could be very dangerous if not treated. Or...if it does not respond to treatment." The grey eyes are calming and searching of the woodsman's. "It is a rare condition and may not be what I fear. And as I have only seen it once, I would have the Lady look to her as soon as possible."

With the spear resting across his lap, Istadris stoops towards the fire's bright, crackling flames, his right hand extended to its warmth. His gaze lowers with Aldawin's words, and he tugs lightly at the folds of his warm cloak with his left hand. "Will the Lady know how to treat it?" He asks, without meeting the healer's gaze. "If so, she should certainly accompany Corrin to their lodge and not to Amon Obel as she wanted."

The crackling of the fire is a comforting thing in the almost weighted gloom of night in this unfamiliar forest. The healer nods at Istadris' words, and offers, "I will speak to the Lady tomorrow, 'ere we leave. I am certain she would delay her move to Amon Obel for the time it would take to see to Corrin's wife. And I would see to her as well, regardless, though I trust the Lady's greater experience in something as critical as this. I will do my best to see to Lia's safety," Aldawin says firmly--as near to a pledge that might be offered--then falls to silence once more. Again the crackle and pop of the fire is all to be heard of a lingering silence, before the healer's voice is raised in soft inquiry of her own. "Where will you be going tomorrow, Istadris?" she asks, her pensive gaze trained to the orange flames.

Istadris' outstretched right hand drops limply to his side, and he leans back wearily against the lush, grassy soil beneath him. The camp around him is still, and he unconsciously lowers his voice so as not to disturb the sleepy silence. "The lady shall sure go, if it is requested of her." He states with certainty, before turning aside to gauge the healer's expression. "I shall go with Corrin, regardless." He answers softly, his hand dropping to scratch lightly at the clean new bandages wrapped about his arm. "I would see his father and my cousins once more, and meet this Lia." The woodsman's thin lips curl momentarily, and he rises slowly to a crouch. "So you will come with us, and the Lady Emeldir as well, I hope." He adds at last, before rising to his feet, the spear already in hand. "Sleep well, Aldawin. We shall walk together tomorrow."

Heartened of the former ranger's words, Aldawin seeks his gaze as he stands back to his feet. "I should like to meet these cousins of yours, too," she says with a slight smile. "And I shall be certain to speak to the Lady in the morning as soon as I may," she once again assures. Her own eyelids heavy with sleep, the healer raises her right hand to stifle a yawn that comes unbidden following her quiet words. "It is certain I shall sleep well. May you rest as easily, Istadris."