Beleriand time is: Daytime (About 11AM) on Mersday of Summer - August 25, 463

Inside the gates
Just inside the gates sits a small, square building made of the silvery birchs surrounding the area, providing a storage area for weaponry and tools. A packed dirt pathway leads to a courtyard to the west, where there are several small houses. Faint plumes of light grey smoke rise from their chimneys, a fragrant aroma of meats cooking filling the air. Across the path from the smaller stockade is a larger common building, with a great stone chimney at the far end. Near the path is a well-tended garden of both vegetables and herbs.

The summer day dawns hot and sunny across Brethil's expansive forest lands. The bare, unsheltered crown of Amon Obel is no exception, and the heat here is stifling because of its direct exposure to the glaring sun's brilliant rays. Despite the hot, high summer weather, many of the local Haladin are out and about their duties. The gateway leading east into the forest has been left gaping, though several armed men rest beneath the shady shelter of the guardhouse as they watch the sloping path leading into town.

The Beorian woodsman, Istadris, strolls leisurely along the narrow roadway leading towards the gates. The curved, strung staff of his great bow hangs slung over his left shoulder, above a half filled quiver of black-fletched arrows. The tall adan's sheathed sword dangles as usual at his back, and he grasps the scabbard's wide leather strap easily in his right hand as he surveys the sunny hillside just beyond the open gateway.

At the gates, themselves, Aldawin converses with one of the guards. Her expression indicates concern, though she waits patiently as the tall Haladin speaks. Shaking her head, she begins again, her words slower and spoken of careful pronunciation. As she continues, it is clear the guard does not understand her words, and raising her left hand, the young healer rubs the back of her neck as the guard calls another of his comrades over to listen. Just as Aldawin is about to repeat her request for at least the third time, it seems, her gaze drifts back along the road, where she espies Istadris approaching in a leisurely gait. Raising both hands now and waving them in a crosswise mostion as if to call off the further attempt to make sense of the unitelligible, Aldawin points towards the the former ranger, gives both guards a word of thanks in understandable Haladin speech, and hurries off to intercept the woodsman.

The lean woodsman steps out from beneath the cool shade of the tall trees lining the dirt roadway as he nears the gates, and his left hand rises to shield his narrowed grey eyes from the glaring sunlight. His lips curl with a faint smile as he notices Aldawin where she converses with one of the Haladin guardsmen, and though he offers no greeting, Istadris' long strides veer towards her. "Good morn, Aldawin." He calls out once he nears the young healer who moves to approach him. His tanned brow furrows slightly at her seemingly concerned expression, and he shrugs beneath the weight of his bow and sword as he halts before the Beorian woman. "What is the matter?" He asks, with an uneasy smile.

The smile in return is somewhat forced, though lingers not long upon the Beorian healer's lips. Stretching her right hand out in offer to take his, Aldawin attempts to lead the woodsman away from the busier walkway and morning traffic of the road. "There is news," she says in a hurried tone, her words tumbling one after another. "I met with Corrin earlier this morn, though not long...And I've sought to find you or the Lady Emeldir since." Stilling the words for a moment as a breeze tangles the drooping leaves of the nearby birches, Aldawin sets her sober gaze upon the woodsman and says of a steadied and urgent tone. "Sionell and those of Dor-Lomin have arrived in Brethil in safety. Yet Finnabair was to have arrived just ahead of them, and it is not known what has become of her."

Though the woodsman reaches out unhesitantly for the healer's offered hand, his grey eyes widen questioningly at her expression. Without a word, Istadris hurriedly follows beside Aldawin as she leads him off the path. "What news are these?" He questions hastily, his frown deepening, "From Dorthonion?" The lean Beorian's words trail off, however, as his companion speaks on. "Finnabair would have returned with them, I thought." He states, his gaze lowering thoughtfully. "Why was she not with them? Did she tell them where she would go? Perhaps she meant to seek out the yrch further north, and has yet to return."

Coming to stand beneath the shadow of a large pine, Aldawin purses her lips together in thought. "Corrin did not say much of else, other than when the party Finna had been travelling with had heard of the delay as they reached the forest's borders, one of the Marachians in the group insisted on retracing their steps by following the Teiglin to find her. And he encouraged others of the Haladin scouts to seek for her as well." In an impatient and nervous gesture, Aldawin raises her free hand to swipe her hair behind her ears, though she next looks to Istadris. "I suppose she may simply be delayed, as you say, though I have felt a twinge of uneasiness upon this news, knowing that my words were among those to send her."

Istadris paces slowly beside Aldawin, halting and turning to face her only as the two reach the shade of the tall pine tree. His left hand rises to scratch idly at the side of his scarred jaw, and he draws a step back to stand against the tree's thick trunk. "Did the Marachians say aught of their journey?" He wonders aloud, his concerned frown fading suddenly, "I should seek Corrin, or else go seek the Hadorsmen themselves. Was their journey a safe one? Or did they find trace of the yrch?" The woodsman shakes his head irritably, and his shoulders sag visibly with his next words. "I should search for Finnabair myself. She is a Beorian ranger, and would have left traces for others of us to follow. No Haladin or Man of Marach would find these... and we have few among us who would."

Aldawin's gaze darkens as she recalls the warden's message to her. Shaking her head, she gives a shrug of the next. "No mention was made of the yrch," she says, though the grey eyes show a continued working of thoughts behind that gaze. Taking a pace, herself, Aldawin draws to the ranger's side; the furrowed gaze is no less encumbered of concern. "Though why else would there be such concern over her late return?" she then offers. "Even if it were not stated?" A moment passes wherein another pine-scented breeze drifts along the hilltop, and for a moment, Aldawin turns her burdened glance to look over the vista of the dense forest below and beyond the gates. "If you must go," she says, "Allow me to go with you?"

Though his head hangs bowed slightly to avoid the sharp, needled boughs of the pine branches beneath which he stands, Istadris' clear grey eyes are lifted high to survey the gate and wooden stockade that rises at the edge of the small village. "The yrch have come nowhere near Brethil's eaves, yet, Finnabair's wanderings must surely have carried her towards the beasts' stronghold in the north." He states, again frowning with noticeable concern as he looks back down to Aldawin. "I would firstly go speak with the wardens who welcomed Sionell and Hador's men into Brethil." He then adds, one hand rising to adjust the taut bowstring at his left shoulder, "Then I shall go and see if I may retrace their route, and perhaps find some trace of the ranger along the way." The Beorian woodsman draws a deep, frustrated breath and breaks his gaze from the young healer's before speaking on, "I would rather have you remain here, with the lady Emeldir. Or at least somewhere safely within Brethil, Aldawin. I would travel more swiftly without you."

Stepping down the path, heedless of whatever events or private conversations that would be happening before the gates in this public area, Falsten appears. Moving quickly, and with a cheery jaunt to his step, he wears his carpenter's bag with an air of importance and care -- very mindful of heavy end of his hammer that swings freely out of the bottom. From his mouth, carried like a cluster of toothpicks, several nails are grasped so that he can make repairs easily.

"Aye," Aldawin is quick to agree with the last. "You may travel with more stealth without me in tow, but within Brethil 'tis no cause to leave me behind. You well know I may keep pace with you. When stealth is not required," she adds under her breath, and the faintest twist of a smile is hinted at in her expression. "Istadris," she says, and her grey gaze is compelling though his own is directed elsewhere. "It would be a good day or two travel from here to the borders of the woods. Such time could be valuable in the case of injury. Take me as far as the borders of these woods, and I will remain. I would rather be there unecessarily than to stay here at Amon Obel in any case." The next is almost whispered. "It will not be without danger for any who go in search--" If any more would be spoken of the healer, it is cut short as the cheerful visage of the carpenter Falsten is made known of the other's jaunty steps. Turning her gaze at last from the woodsman, Aldawin looks to the carpenter's approach, though the nodded greeting she offers is devoid of the same cheer, if polite.

The woodsman's level gaze is drawn by Aldawin's pleads, and though his expression betrays reluctance and uneasiness at her suggestion, his head dips slightly in agreement. Before he himself can say a word in reply, however, comes the Haladin carpenter. His clear grey eyes lift, following the healer's to watch the approaching man with a flat, level stare. "I would take you as far as the border." He says then to Aldawin, this time in the tongue of Beor, "And no further." Even as he speaks these words, Istadris offers the passing Falsten a polite dip of his head. His attention is drawn momentarily to the nails he holds at his mouth, and once again the woodsman shrugs uneasily beneath the weight of the sheathed sword at his back and the great bow at his shoulder. "There you must wait with the wardens, until I return with Finnabair." He adds for his companion's ears, still in the Beorian tongue, "Know you where Hador's folk came into Brethil? Did they arrive at the crossings of the river Teiglin, or further north?"

Passing by Aldawin and Istadris, Falsten double takes for a moment as Aldawin gives him a nod. Frowning, his brows furrow as he stops and looks at the healer strangely. Backpeddling to the two Beorians, he nods politely to Istadris before lifting up a hand and spitting out the nails into it. "Ahm... good day, Honored Healer Ma'am. I'm afraid, I wasn't able to find the fellow you were waiting for, so patiently, the other day," he says solemnly.

Aldawin's concern lessens a little as Istadris agrees to let her go as far as the borders of the forest, and yielding a quiet sigh, she glances up at the woodsman, her only confirmation of this a grateful nod with the quietly uttered words, "No further." Of the next question, she answers with certaintly. "'Twas the crossings, for that is what Corrin said." Turning her attention back to the carpenter as he makes a most polite greeting to her, Aldawin cannot help but smile--both at the greeting and the comment that follows. "It seems I have found him today," she says, glancing once again to the taller Beorian. "Falsten, this is Istadris, woodsman and ranger of Dorthonion. Istadris, Falsten here, is going to craft an oaken chair for my father at last. It seems those days the shop was empty he was out harvesting wood." And though the healer continues to smile, there is little that may hide the continuing concern harbored at the edges of her gaze.

"Aye, no further." Replies Istadris in quiet, hushed tones before following the healer's gaze over to where Falsten has come to stand. "Well met, Falsten." He offers in the Haladin carpenter's own tongue, with a polite dip of his head. The Beorian woodsman's thin lips curl with a vaguely wry smile as he looks upon the other and jests, "A man of some skill--or confidence, you must be to take up this request of Aldawin's. Her father is a demanding man, and surely expects naught but the most finely crafted of oaken chairs..." With a dismissive shake of his head, the lean adan speaks on, "But come, perhaps you can answer a question for me, Falsten. I must journey to the crossings of Teiglin in urgent business. Would you know how long a journey I should prepare for? I have yet to travel so far afield here in Brethil."

With a shrug, Falsten offers a lopsided smile to Istadris, "Well met, sir, yourself. Skill...? Confidence? Nay. I have some modesty, sir, but... really, I'm the only one here that might be willing to take such a commission." He pauses and furrows his brow, turning to Aldawin, "Which reminds me, Honored Healer Ma'am. That bear, we were speaking about. I've found some drawings to show to young Westley, and he thinks he may be able to copy them. They are... a bit primitive, of course, but it is better than nothing, if you've not found someone to do the carving --"

Falsten's words are halted by Istadris' question. "To the... crossing of Teiglin?", he murmers with a frown. "I'm sorry to say, no. Frankly, most of my time is spent here, within the shop and around the town. Whenever I *do* go out, it is always in accompanyment with a forester or ranger of my folk, sir. I couldn't tell you if that was the Teiglin crossing, or just a plain old shallow spot that looks good to dangle your toes into."

As Falsten speaks of the chair, Aldawin seems to almost lose herself in another track of thought, though in question of the carving of the bear, she is immediately thoughtful of that. Though she does wait until the carpenter has answered the woodsman's question, she draws her gaze upwards to Istadris. "Ah, yes," she says, "Though now may not be the best time to ask, I was thinking of asking you. But t'will wait," she says, looking once more to Falsten. "I will be gone for the next few days upon an urgent matter, but when I return I shall go to your shop forthwith, and let you know what I have decided."

Istadris draws a pace away from Aldawin, letting his right hand slip from hers as he readies to depart. "I shall go ask one of the guardsmen about the crossings of Teiglin." He declares, peering over towards the gatehouse where a pair of the armed Haladin men pass their time at watch duty. With a sidelong glance to the healer, the woodsman speaks on, "Aldawin, go and gather what you will need for the journey. I shall meet you here in a short while, with my own supplies." His clear grey eyes turn then upon the carpenter, to whom he offers a polite nod of his head. "Good day, Falsten." He says, as he turns to depart, "We shall surely meet again another day." The lean Beorian strides briskly off towards the stockade gates, and the sentries that stand at watch just beyond it. His low voice is carried momentarily by the cool summer breeze as he raises a loud greeting in Halethian to the armed men, before being drowned out by the incessant din of the busy roadway nearby.

"Good day," echoes Falsten, giving an odd, quizzical look at the retreating Istadris. Then, with a shrug, he looks back to Aldawin, "Good journeying to you. If you should see my folks along the river Sirion, the Datterhals, please say a 'Good day' to them for me. They'll be wondering how I am fairing, I'm sure."

As the woodsman draws away towards the gates, Aldawin answers after him, "I shall be here shortly. I've not much to get." For a moment her gaze follows Istadris as he nears and speaks to the guards, though with Falsten's farewell and wish of good journey, she smiles. "Aye, I shall be certain to pass along your greeting if any by that name are met. "Work well with your wood, and I will stop by the shop when I return." And then, in steps not marked by economy, the healer makes her way towards the summit, and the pavillions where she resides.