Grassy Clearing
Ringed by giant oaks and sturdy birch trees, this clearing has been made to accommodate a simple wooden lodge. Short grasses grow thickly-interspersed with patches of loamy earth, and the open stretch of green allows for a window of sky overhead in the depths of this ancient wood. One particularly massive oak stands at the edge of the clearing, its wide and lofty branches providing refuge for a variety forest creatures.

Evening has settled again upon the deep woods of Brethil, enshrouding it in a calming and dim starlit night. The waning moon is visible behind the nigh-transparent wisps of clouds in the clearing here, where leaf and bough cannot compete; the short grass is tinged blue-green and touched with the merest hint of the moon's gentle light, while the warming light that spills from the windows of Corrin's lodge adds a golder tone.

There in the clearing, near the door of the lodge stands Aldawin, who shakes out a woolen blanket in the cool evening, and as she folds it carefully once again, gazes out towards the giant oak, contemplative, for a moment.

Corrin is standing out in the clearing near Lia's grave, having returned there to spend some brief time alone after seeing off the last of the visiting relatives and other mourners. Flowers are scattered all around the freshly turned earth, and Corrin bends to pick one up, then twirls it between his fingers.

The Beorian woodsman, Istadris, sits inside the common room of the cozy wooden lodge, his lean body stooped atop a low stool some few paces away from the gaping entryway. His clear grey eyes are narrowed in the flickery glow of the warm fire, and he stares thoughtfully down upon a stout block of wood held in the palm of his left hand. With a low, soundless sigh, the tall adan rises suddenly to his feet and places the wood aside. His quiet steps carry him towards the room's entrance, and there he halts to lean a shoulder against the doorway's wooden frame as he looks out into the deepening night outside.

Approaching the clearing down the narrow trail that leads westward from the clearing, the grey figure of a woman walks garbed in a long cloak. Its material is thin and light, fanning out wide on either side of her with the push of the evening breeze and the steps she takes over the hard earth, arriving where the trail and trees falls away to open space. Ahead lies the cottage, its windows and open door beacons in the darkness and toward them she begins to head, seeing two figures nearby. But shadowy movement turns her eye to where Corrin stands alone in the night before a small mound and her steps slow with hestitation.

The summer evening is still, and only faintly in the distance is heard the warbling song of a nightbird. The healer turns to toward that sound now, met with greyed and obscure shadows to her view. Draping the last fold of the woolen blanket over her arm, Aldawin turns from that vacant gaze to the lodge upon hearing the woodsman's steps behind her. "Aye," she says quietly in greeting. "Corrin is still there," she says of the warden, and she looks to where the man stands in silence near Lia's grave. Another figure, however, soon comes into view, and eyes narrowing, Aldawin wonders aloud, "Is that Finnabair, there?" even as she takes a step forward.

The approach of the shadowy figure does not go unnoticed by Corrin, even though the clearing has been host to many visitors today. Thinking perhaps that the new arrival is one of the Haladin who had attended the funeral, he lifts his head and makes a brief query in his language, taking a few steps in Finnabair's direction before stopping as he recognizes the Beorian. Changing tongues, he says simply to the ranger, "You've returned. Did you manage to contact those of my people who watch the area you went to?"

Istadris edges a step forward, passing just beyond the doorway's threshold before drawing back to lean easily against the side of the doorframe. His right hand rises to grasp experimentally at his left shoulder, and though his light, woolen shirt offers no glimpse of the light bandages that still bind his wounds, he winces faintly at the soreness of his recovering muscles. His gaze is drawn briefly towards the grave at the far end of the grassy clearing at Aldawin's comment, and he nods in wordless acknowledgement before looking back toward the shady trees from where the Finnabair emerges. "It must be." He answers the healer, even as his cousin greets the cloaked ranger. With slow, reluctant steps, the Beorian man moves to approach them.

The blanket still clasped before her, Aldawin continues on across the clearing a mere half-step ahead of the woodsman, towards Corrin and Finnabair. The grassy ground is soft beneath her feet; the pale light of the moon casts a shadow of her uncloaked figure as she walks beyond the light of the lodge. "Aye, Finnabair," she calls of a quieter greeting, but her grey eyes betray curiosity. Reaching the two, she stops, and offers a nod as well to Corrin now, compassion spoken only of her gaze.

Finnabair turns her steps toward Corrin, padding softly over the damp grass of the clearing and pausing not far from the grave. "I did.", she answers, nodding in the black, "Your wife has passed.", she remarks evenly, looking up from the woman's resting place to the Haladin warden, "I am sorry, Corrin.", she offers, glancing again to the cottage which the two figures have left to approach them, a familiar voice hailing from one, "Aldawin.", she returns, falling silent.

Corrin nods to Finnabair as she offers her condolences, but says only, "There is still much food and drink left over from the wake within. You should come in and rest, if you have just returned from your journey."

The Beorian woodsman's lengthy strides bring him swiftly towards where Corrin and Finnabair stand. Without a word of greeting, the lean man halts before the two and lifts his questioning gaze to Finnabair. "Aye, come in a while." He says, echoing the Haladin's offer. "I would hear what news you've brought as well, if any." He adds, before beckoning towards the lodge with a nod of his head and drawing a quick step backwards to await the ranger's reply.

Aldawin glances between Corrin and Finnabair, but inevitably she is drawn to look at the mound of earth just paces from her feet, and the flowers and garlands that adorn the resting place of the warden's wife. She sees, too, to the flower that Corrin holds, and lifting her gaze then says suddenly. "Aye, I will make up some Maythen tea for us all." Shuffling the blanket in her clasp, Aldawin offers a tight smile and awaits Finnabair's response as well.

Lifting a brow at Corrin, she nods and begins to turn toward the lodge and meets with Aldawin and Istadris, giving them both a short greeting. "I shall a while.", she answers, "Though there is little news I have to bring." Glancing back to the dark figure of Corrin and whispering quickly to Aldawin as she begins to walk on toward the lodge again, she asks, "The child?"

Not waiting to make further conversation, Corrin walks briskly towards the lodge and enters it, heading straight for the kitchen, where, presumably, he's putting together something for Finnabair to eat with the leftovers from the wake held earlier that day.

Istadris watches Corrin's abrupt passing through narrowed eyes, and says nothing at first to Finnabair's response. The woodsman follows closely behind the Beorian healer and ranger as the two make their way back across the grassy clearing towards the Haladin's lodge, but hurries to pass them by before reaching the entryway. "Come inside, then." He offers the two women, before slipping quickly through into the firelit room.

Finnabair's question is fairly answered by the expression Aldawin turns to the ranger, though the soft word is accompanied by a shake of the healer's head. "Nay," she says, her gaze flicking upward after the warden as he walks quickly towards the lodge. Her own pace is then set to longer strides, and soon she stepping into the front room as well, setting the blanket down upon one of the backs of the chairs from which it was earlier taken. "I shall set about making the tea," she says as she crosses the front room and enters the small kitchen area, nodding to Corrin as she arrives and retrieves the bucket of water and the warming kettle.

It doesn't take Corrin long to throw together a plate well heaped with Haladin fare, given there was a goodly amount if it left lying about after the mourners' departure. Indeed, some of the food is still warm, having been left amidst warm coals on one side of the fireplace. He brings the dish, which appears to consist mostly of roasted meat in a thick spicy sauce out and places it on the table in the living area, then sits at another seat at the selfsame table himself.

Finnabair's expression turns grim, though not surprised at Aldawin's answering look and with a nod she steps in after the others, reaching up to unclasp her cloak and hanging it on a peg set into the wall by the door. Moving to take a seat amongst those set around the fire, she nods to the healer, saying, "Thank you.", as the woman departs for the kitchen. "There is little enough to tell from Dimbar.", she begins, but pulls herself forward as Corrin returns quickly from the kitchen, placing a plate of food before them on the table, eyeing the roast with apprecation, "That looks more than palatable, Corrin.", she compliments, reaching for a piece of the meat.

Istadris paces heavily across the warm, firelit common room, pausing only briefly near the doorway to take up the block of wood he had earlier been inspecting from the stool where he had left it. "So the yrch have not been seen since our encounter with them?" He questions of he ranger, while taking a seat for himself at the edge of the room and across from the hearth's crackling flames. "What of the isle of Tol Sirion to the north?" He wonders aloud, "Has anyone ventured so far to spy the lands there?"

Pouring the water into the kettle, Aldawin returns to the front room and sets the iron pot to heat upon one of the kettle hooks in the hearth and then uses an iron poker to stir the embers upon the inner hearthstones. Her ear is turned entirely to the conversation, however, and as the talk turns to speaking of the yrch and of Tol Sirion, the healer sets the metal rod down and leans against the partitioning wall of the front room, near the kitchen, rubbing the ache of her left arm absently, and looking with vague curiosity to the block of wood the former ranger holds.

"Tol Sirion," murmurs Corrin when Istadris finishes speaking, "We've put off finding out what has happened to Minas Tirith for far too long, and it's my fault for having been remiss. I should have taken a few men and gone that way myself, when our scouts did not return. But there were...other things." The Haladin warden frowns as he speaks, his eyes fixed on the surface of the table he's seated at.

Finnabair leans back into the chair and takes a bite of the meat, shaking her head, "There has been nothing from Dimbar since.", she says around a mouthful, adding, "At least not in as many numbers." Chewing upon the meat and watching as Aldawin returns to set the kettle over the flames of the fire, she goes on, "Some of the Wardens wondered after the rumours of Tol Sirion and asked if any, or that I, might go there to find out what was true of them." Pausing and sending a cautious look at Corrin, she says, her words partly a question, "Some of them said you might be the one to go with me, Corrin."

The woodsman eases back against his sturdy chair, lifting the wooden block in his left hand and studying it absently in the fire's flickery light as he hears the words of Corrin and Finnabair. His brow arches curiously as the ranger mentions journeying northwards, however, and he stoops forward to gaze questioningly upon her. "You mean to go that far?" He asks, setting the block of wood down upon the table top by his side, "And none of the others have volunteered to help?"

Aldawin shifts her stance in leaning against the wall as her gaze travels slowly between those who speak. Remaining a listener only thus far, she finally clasps her arms before her, pressing her lips together as Finnabair speaks of travelling with Corrin northwards in answers regarding the movement of the yrch in that area. "Would it not be prudent to take more in company, seeing as the rumours bode ill and naught is known of the missing scouts and the reason for their disappearance?" she asks, and her furrowed brow speaks of her concern.

Nodding to Finnabair, Corrin affirms, "I know the area well, and should be the one to go with you. And I will. There is nothing to keep me here any longer." The Haladin keeps his tone flat and neutral, but there's nothing in his manner that might indicate that he is in any way unwilling to go. At Aldawin's question, he says to the other two Beorians, "I think in this case it would be better if we did not take too many in the company, though I know some others who will be willing to come along, should we ask them. If Minas Tirith is fallen, the enemy will be swarming over that area, and the only thing that will avail us is stealth."

Finnabair looks over to Istadris and nods, "That far, or as far as needs be to know its fate.", she answers. "I mean it to only be a quick journey, there and back.", she explains, adding to Corrin's words, "And there is no need for more to go when it takes only one to bring news back. If Corrin knows the way well, then together we will travel swiftly and draw less attention to ourselves." A yawn cuts her talk short and Finnabair rubs a hand over her face, looking apologetically at the three, "Forgive me, but it grows late.", she says, rising and stepping to the door to reach for her cloak. Donning it, she turns to Corrin, "We can leave on the morrow, if you feel able. You will find me at Amon Obel.", she says, opening the door, "Good night to you all.", she says lastly, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Istadris heaves a quiet, frustrated sigh and leans sideways, placing his right elbow against the edge of the sturdy wooden table. "Someone must go, aye." He admits, while staring listlessly across the cozy room and towards the far wall above the crackling fire. The woodsman's clear gaze is drawn to Finnabair as she rises and prepares to depart, and he watches wordlessly a moment, waiting until she has reached the doorway to speak out. "There and back again, then." He cautions, casting Corrin a brief glimpse in warning, "Nothing more than that. You can not hide from the Gaurhoth for long in those lands."

Aldawin too seems as though she would offer a word of caution, but given the woodsman's clear and concise warning, the healer merely nods as she looks to Finnabair across the way and says, "Aye, travel swift and safely, Finnabair," as the ranger turns to leave. Standing away from the wall and leaving briefly to the kitchen area, Aldawin returns to the hearth to take the kettle of water from where it heats, using a thick, layered woolen cloth to protect her hands from the hot metal handle as she bears it back to set upon the table and goes about setting the maythen petals to steeping in separate cups.

Corrin nods to Istadris, and answers evenly, "I know, cousin. I will take no risks. Especially with your friend for company. If we cannot get close enough in safety, then best to just withdraw, and send messengers to Nargothrond in the hopes that they know better what the state of matters is." As Aldawin brings the tea, Corrin smiles at he wearily and says, "Thank you." Indeed, the warden, who has shown little sign of weakness throughout the day despite the presence of many visitors, suddenly has the air of one wearied almost beyond endurance.