Brethil's Roleplaying Logs

Base of Amon Obel
The forest thins out somewhat, spreading at the base of a large hill, the larger trees giving way to younger ones. The pathway widens heading gradually upwards to the crest of Amon Obel to the west. The hillside is covered with long grasses waving in the breeze, and dotted with colorful wild flowers.

Breezes flirt amidst autumn leaves, coaxing them from their hosting boughs to drift lazily to the winding forest pathway--now carpeted in orange, yellow and gold. Brown is earthy and rich when blended with these hues, and the solemning afternoon bidden to a soft light as the sun wends her way westward behind a low layering of clouds.

Blithe are Aldawin's spirits even in the tempered light, and in company with the messenger Sionell she is almost chattering, so enthusiastic is she about the subject she speaks of. "It was the largest oak I had ever seen, Sionell," she says, gesturing with her hands as the satchel--light of weight upon this day--swings at her left side with each step. "But then the forester told me there were others larger deeper in the forest, if I cared to come with him to look." This causes the healer to laugh with a chuckle. "I thanked him for his offer, but declined, and then his comrades all laughed in response as he turned a shade of that leaf...there." And she points to a small maple leaf yielding to crimson with the season's call. At this point, Aldawin stops and turns to look off the trail aways. "Well...." she muses with a glance overhead to a window of clouded sky. "I told my mother that I would find some more of these mushrooms before day's end. They shouldn't be too far off the trail, towards the stream. Dare I go wandering?" she wonders. "We are still close enough to the hill..."

"I know not his name," Aldawin chuckles in reply. "It was a young Haladin forester, mostly hidden of his beard." The recollection draws a grin. "I am certain he was coaxed to boldness by a fair amount of ale. It was fairly flowing like water that evening in Brethil Hall," she says with a shrug. "But I would not venture into the deep woods with a stranger, forester or no..." She looks at Sionell and motions the messenger forward to follow her off the path eastward towards the stream to soils more welcoming of such fungus as that which she searches for. "The Haladin are strange to me still," she says, moving her hand forward to brush aside a pine bough heavy with dark-green needles. "They are some of them friendly to a fault, yet it seems they watch you with a wary gaze at the same time." She ducks under the pine's bough and holds it back until the messenger has followed behind. "Falsten is not like that, however. At least from what I've seen. Did you hear the misfortune that befell the carpenter?"

Crunching the leaves beneath her feet with carefree abandon, the messenger smiles as the healer tells her tale. Her light strides carry her just a pace before the other and the booted feet stop every now and then as the lass bends to pluck a flower from among the stretching carpet of gold, red and orange leaves. "I see.." Sionell says slowly, taking an elaborate moment to digest the contents of the healer's words as if some weighty matter were hidden within them. "And...this forester...what is his name? He wished..to take you to see the oaks?" She grins suddenly, the tanned features turning mischeivious, "it is as almost a good ploy for him to be a theiving rogue. Perhaps he meant to relieve you of your precious herbs." She chortles, taking ample delight in her new found story. The slender finger twirl the fstem in her hands, in the air before she brings the bloom to her face and smiles, her eyes batting comically. "Or perhaps it was else he sought." The grey eyes close , winking. "And..now you speak of mushrooms..." she murmers, as if in disappointment, her grey eyes widening at the prospect of wandering. "Why not...? Who is there to prevent you? A lass should be able to go where she will...if it is to pick mushroom or no.." This said was obvious energer as Sionell huffs mightily, as a wisp of coppery hair, falling into her face.

Though the press of towering pine and lofty birch thins gradually here so near the base of Amon Obel, the woods grow lusher and denser towards the east, north, and south. It is not far along the trail to the east--directly into the deeper forest--that the shallow, gurgling creek runs north and south. Beside rushing waters that sparkle in the dimming light of the dying day, one booted foot pressed against a smooth, flat rock portruding from the waters themselves, crouches a solitary figure. Cloaked in the autumn's chill, and bearing with him spear, sheathed sword, and longbow at his side, he stoops low to drink of the fresh liquid in his cupped hand, only to freeze in place at the faint sounds of distant chatter coming from beyond the trees. The lean warrior rises slowly to his booted feet and draws a pace away from the edge of the stream before coming to stand beside the lofty trunk of a massive oak, where he pauses once more and strains to make out the drifting, fragmented sounds of women's voices.

Trees flutter down from branches, stirred by the breeze and falling to gather upon the forest floor. Crossing the brook by way of stepping rocks that rise out the waters, Finnabair comes onto the place where Istadris stands in wait. Finding him stilled by the sound of voices that carry through the trees upon the autumn air, she paces in silence toward him, coming to stand at the other side of the oak to listen with an attentive ear as well.

Trailing after the healer, the flower is now placed behind her ear, hanging amongst the fiery wisps with weedlike semblance. Scattered are the petals each , blowing away gradually in the stiff wind till there remained a somewhat broken stem. "I dislike, them drinking..."the messenger offers, her eyebrow arching slightly as one hand told of the dismissive tone in which she gave her response. "It is most unbecoming..."Her quiet words trail off as Sionell ducks hastily under the branch smiling gratefully to the other. " Friendly! perhaps" she states, plucking a handful of needles idley from the offered branch, before continuing. "Yet I am as suspicious of them so I should not complain...though Falsten was the friendliest...What befell him Aldawin? I had not heard any word..." The quiet gaze lifts to the healer's face as the messenger studies the other thoughtfully. "No ill I hope.."

The lean, cloak-clad figure stands unmoving for a time against the gnarled oak's huge trunk, left hand pressed high upon the rough bark. "I hear the tongue of Beor." He says in low, hushed tones as Finnabair comes to stand near his side, "Let us see who comes. But in secret..." Without another word to the ranger, Istadris slips the sheathed longsword's scabbard from behind his shoulder and rests it down against one of the great tree's roots beside his bow and full quiver. With only the spear gripped in hand now, the tracker slips off into the greenery, his near soundless steps carrying him parallel to but some dozen paces north of the trail leading towards the approaching voices and the hill's base far beyond to the west.

"I have not actually spoken to the carpenter," Aldawin answers as she releases the pine's branch and moves ahead, picking her way among the short and long-waving grasses and tender, though closely grown clumps of undergrowth that crowd the bases of the trees. Shadows lengthen, or seem to, as they travel deeper in the forest, and finding a clearing the healer stops and scans for any sign of the mushrooms she seeks, consideration edging her brow. "I met with a Warden of the hill, who mentioned the theft of the Falsten's cart and horse. Taken from him by bandits, apparently." Seeing no sign of the fungus, Aldawin moves forward out from the clearing--again of an eastward track--and now the swift-moving, gurgling waters of the stream can be heard in the mix of breezes and waning birdsong, though the Beorian healer has seen nor heard no sign of the woodsman or ranger ahead.

Finnabair lifts a brow at Istadris' want of secrecy but follows after, bending beneath low branches as she carries on through the wooded area. With care she removes the great length of the bow from her back, carrying it at her side to keep it from catching upon bough or brake. The sound of the women's voices grows clear as they near, and Finnabair hurries a step after Istadris to whisper, "That does sound like Sionell and Aldawin.", she whispers with a smile.

"Then they are getting bolder with each attempt " Sionell murmers, her eyes scouring the earth beneath them for sign of the mushrooms. There is irritation in her voice and she moves a hand to wipe the back of her neck, gathering the long hair away from it, with slight annoyance. "It will not be long...though boldness comes with carelessness. They will gorw less wary and more assuming...and that will be the downfall of the whole lot." Her gaze lifts to the treetops and she pauses a moment , smiling at birdsong, though none of the avian creatures enter her line of vision. " As it is , to disguise a horse will prove difficult." She smiles, suddenly grinning openly. "The plotting of their demise has, become an idle pastime of mine Aldawin...when not helping you pick mushrooms of course."

Each of his soft, muffled steps carry Istadris further from the rushing creek's glittery waters, and in a short moment they are hidden from sight by the press of pines and birches all around him. The tracker ducks beneath a low, leafy bough and there pauses once again to listen to the drifting sounds of conversation just as Finnabair catches up. "Aye." He utters in whispered tones, "So we shall lie here and surprise the two as they pass by." The Beor woodsman smiles wryly and lifts the hood of his cloak up to cast his features in shadow, and once more continues on through the brush. Perhaps no more than two dozen paces from where the two women approach, he halts once more, this time coming to crouch low behind the high stump of an old, broken tree and the half-rotten log that lies beside it. Through glittery, eager eyes, he peers through a tangled patch of leaves and into the dim haze of light ahead, watching only for the others' approach.

Spying a grove of birch nearby, Aldawin changes the direction of her steps to follow where the undergrowth once again thins about the clusters of silver-barked trees. Peering at the grasses, and prodding the loamy soil with her foot, the Beorian healer huffs loudly as she places her hands upon her hips and turns to face Sionell once again. "I think all the mushrooms within a half-day's travel have been picked," she utters, a hint of resignation to her voice. "But we might find some nearer the stream, yet." Quickly, she retraces her steps and looks to the messenger curiously before continuing on. "You are making it a pasttime to plot their demise?" she wonders with a lift of her brow in tandem with the corners of her mouth. "However do you plan on doing that?" Still, she misses any sign of Istadris or Finnabair's presence, though a glimpse of the distant, high stump can be seen peeking from behind the waving foliage with each breath of breeze.

Finnabair continues along after Istadris, placing her steps where he lays his until he comes to the broken tree and she kneels aside him. "Do you think this wise?", she whispers, looking askance at him and then turning to eye the approach of the two, unsuspecting women along the path and through the trees. Laying a hand upon the damp stump she fall silent long enough to hear the conversation now held between the healer and messenger and leans toward Istadris to add, "Did we not caution them in not travelling far the wooded hill?"

Hidden from casual observation by the old stump and the mess of gently thick greenery around it, Istadris edges carefully around it to have a better look towards the path. His keen grey eyes narrow as he finds his first glimpse of the two Beor women approaching, and his wry smile only broadens with seeming mischief. "Aye, we did caution them." He whispers back with only a brief, sideways glance at the ranger, "And they have come out regardless, so let us teach them a lesson now." The lean, cloak-clad tracker ducks lower to ensure he is out of sight, and stoops towards Finnabair. His free left hand is lifted to cup his lips, as he whispers to her once more. With a slight dip of his head then, the Beor woodsman looks towards the approaching two and slips quickly away from the stump to hide amidst the clustered pines that stand a little further from the trail and almost parallel to the two women.

Istadris whispers, "Stay here and rise when they have neared. I shall slip around behind them and call out. Be sure they can not recognize you."

"Perhaps plotting...is not the best word, dreaming up...is more fitting.." is the messenger's answer, weaving her way towards the other through the tangled undergrowth. The grasses are higher here and though they bend unprotestingly beneath her steps, the large stones does present a slight problem for the lass. Hopping gingerly from on to the other, she smiles. " It would make an interesting tale...the lives they've led, perhaps ...when they come I shall ask them of it.."she says, delightedly, taking great pleasure at the thought, her mind racing with possibilities. "Intresting writing..."she murmers, stepping to yet another rock with slight jauntiness. She treads her way towards the stream, just steps behind the healer, chuckling as she mimicks the other's every move behind her.

Finnabair laughs silently and nods to Istadris whispered words, drawing the hood of her cloak forward to leave her face invisible, hidden in shadow. Watching as he moves through the trees and then disappears, she readies herself, biding her time as the women come along, moving for the brook. Glancing across the way she spies Istadris reappearing to slip low within a cluster of pines that lie off the path and she signals with a strange movement of her hand to him.

"You are thinking of writing, then, not of bandits. They would care little for your own interest in that regard, I'm afraid. If it may not pad their pockets, they most likely would not speak." The healer laughs softly, making another hurried glance overhead as they come to a break in the forest's dense canopy. "Tis getting dark," Aldawin says, showing the first concern at the time and perhaps their straying from the hill. "Let us hurry, Sionell, I've no wish be out here after dark, and the Guards will only question us if we arrive after sundown." In keeping with these thoughts, the healer's strides lengthen and she draws within four or five paces of the rotted log, motioning the messenger to hurry along....

Noting Finnabair's subtle gesture as he comes to a crouch beside the prickly pine branches, Istadris momentarily rests the spear in his grip upon the ground by his side and edges carefully forward to look through the needle-clad boughs. The two Beorian women pass by a mere ten paces away, and it is when they have almost come upon the old, rotting stump, that he suddenly rises once more to his booted feet. The spear is lifted at his side, gripped firmly in his right hand once more, while he tugs to lower the cowl of his hood more closely over his shadowed face. There amidst the pines he stands, a tall, lean figure clad seemingly in black, and almost unseen against the deep, inky gloom of the trees' shadows behind him. "Good day." He calls in a low, gruff voice to gain the two women's attention.

"We should get back...Aldawin" The messenger nods her head in agreement, hastening her strides to keep pace with the other, while sparing a glance over her shoulder. Cautionary is the gaze though fleeting, the mention of the need to return resurrecting some form of concern made manifest in her strides. She follows closely behind the other woman pulling the edges of her cloak about her, swiftly. As the daylight fades and the evening shadows stretch before them, a sudden stillness seems to overtake the lass, her usual speech quietened as she meanders her way purposefully. It isonly when the shadows take form, and a figure is revealed to them, that she utters any owrd. Sharp is the cry let flying from her open mouth as her steps halt, her eyes turning to Aldawin with unease. "Uh...G-.."she mumbles, eyeing the strange apparation with obvious alarm.

Waiting for Istadris, she watches as he rises from his hidden place, still standing within the darkness of the trees when he addresses the two women. Even as he speaks the words she rises too, stepping over the roots of the broken tree she hid behind to stand upon the other side. The hood of her cloak keeps her face shadowed and chuckles low and menancingly at Sionell's fright and asks, "What have we here?", in a voice not like her own, as she rests the tip of the greatbow upon the forest floor, fingering the iron dart of one of her arrows suggestively.

Her own strides purposeful and swift, Aldawin glances back to Sionell as if to assure the other when the the lowered voice speaks forth near the tree. It is the sudden closeness of the voice which startles the healer, and in a half-leap of a step backwards, she spins to face the figure, well-shrouded by looming shadow. As the Beorian woman's eyes narrow in deeper scrutiny, the voice of yet another unseen is lended to surprise, and snapping her gaze across the way in this new direction, the grey eyes immediately espy the fingered arrow in the second figure's hands. Letting the satchel's strap slip from her shoulder, the leather case lands with a solid thud upon the leaf-carpeted floor, thought the strap is still held within the bend of the healer's left arm. And, in an instinctive gesture, Aldawin's right hand rests upon the brushed metal pommel of her own weapon. "Gathering herbs," comes the stated reply, cautious, yet unitimidated as she might manage. "What brings you both to the hill this even, fine as it is?"

The cloaked Beor woodsman remains standing in the gloomy shade of the clustered pines, the tall spear grasped firmly in his right hand. His narrowed eyes peer intently upon the two women from beneath the low-hanging cowl of his hood, and though the darkness hides his face, an amused grin curls his thin lips. "Looks like a pair of those Beor lasses." He declares in answer to the hooded Finnabair, again in the same gruff voice but this time uttered in the Halethian tongue, "And alone." With a low chuckle, the hooded Istadris dips the spear at his side to point towards the two women. "My friend and I like frequenting this part of the woods, see..." He says, now in common Sindarin. "But I do wonder what you may have in that bag of yours." With a gesture of his free hand, he beckons for the two to approach closer, "Perhaps it be something we could trade for. We are a hungry pair, tonight."

Her eyes widening further at the appearance of yet another, the messenger pales, taking a step back in the healer's fashion. A sickened look takes hold of her features, as her eyes come to rest on both the spear and the arrow tip, gleaming dully in the strained lighting. Wetting her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue, she lets Aldawin address the pair, her gaze torn between the twain with obvious suspicion. She crosses her arms resolutely before her, ignoring the rapid beating of her heart as the blood rushed merrily to her head. " It is nothing that would satisfy the likes of you..."she says quietly, the grey eyes flcikering to Aldawin's sword , though her own hands employ no weapon of their own. " Besides what could you have to trade with us.." The words are uttered with feigned assurance, the voice of the lass strangely pitched as she fights to keep the veil of indifference over her words. The slight twitching of her lips and fidgeting of her hands would tell otherwise. Nervous she is and clearly.

From behind the set of her hood, Finnabair's grey eyes move between the two women and she treds but a step closer to where they stand, holding silent as Istadris talks. Still many paces across the way, she plants her feet apart while continuing to thumb the sharp point of her arrow. "The likes of us?", she asks, continuing to mask her voice as she looks up to Sionell and the brave front she makes, "What do you think she mean by that?", she asks over to her shadowy companion. "Whatever it is you have, we will unburden you of it now."

As the first stranger speaks once again in his slightly mocking tone, Aldawin's gaze is once more directed to him, and as the spear's tip dips to point towards her, a strange glint flashes in the healer's grey eyes as she looks from the barbed and sharpened metal back to the face of the 'stranger.' The next moment seems to be worked in further scrutiny, and letting the satchel's strap fall now to her grip, Aldawin looks to the second stranger across the way. Again the eyes narrow, squinting, though the healer's chin lifts as she speaks the next. "I am certain that you would..." she says, gripping the leathern strap in her hand, yet sweeping her gaze over to the first stranger once again. "Surely two meager 'lasses' such as ourselves carry no great bounty," the healer says, growing bolder in her tone of voice as she squints and looks once more to the spear and the figure that wields it." A moment more of consideration, then the short sword's metal sings as she draws it from its sheath, her lips pressing together as she draws herself up to stature. Molding her hand about the wrapped leather haft, she puts the blade between herself and the second figure. The grey eyes flash as she holds the satchel forward and says to the first, "Come and see for yourself..."

The cloaked 'bandit's broad shoulders heave with a low chuckle at the words of his similarly-clad companion, though his keen eyes widen with seeming astonishment beneath the cowl of his hood at Aldawin's challenging response. "Perhaps I will, then." He utters in reply, before gesturing for Finnabair to advance upon the two women. With the sturdy spear gripped now in both of his hands, Istadris steps out of the pines' deep gloom and begins to approach the two Beor women. "What will it take to teach the two of you this lesson?" He wonders aloud with a wry smile, no longer speaking in disguised tones and now in the familiar tongue of Beor, "Perhaps a sound thrashing will do it." Though it seems the tracker has given up the charade, he still advances threateningly upon the sword-wielding healer, and the spear in his grip is pointed readily ahead and towards the two. "You should not be so far out of town alone..." He cautions only, at last reaching up to lift the hood away and reveal his familiar face to the others.

Covering her face momentarily, with her sweating palm as Aldawin lets fly the balde from its sheath the young messenger groans. The healer's challenge is quiet unerving to the lass, her hands being weaponless after all. Squnting with discomfort she casts the Aldawin a withering look before retruning her attention to the spear wielding "Bandit". "I knew...it would come to this.."she mumbles, her eyes wildly glancing about the forest floor for a branch of some sort. She finally seeks solace from a short mis-shapen stick,within her immediate grasp. "Aha!" she shouts , raising the crude, weapon before her , confidence surging beneath the quiet gaze at her choice. Short lived it is, for a sharp crack rings the air as the upper portion breaks off, plumeting to her feet in mocking display. "Bother.." she mumbles, her brow furrowing , wide eyed is the gaze that comes to rest on the woodman's face. "Istadris?" Incredulous, is her tone, mouth opening and closing with effort , her gaze then travels to the other. "And...this is?"

When Aldawin draws her sword and utters an invitation to which Istadris accepts, chuckling and speaking in their own native tongue, Finnabair begins to stride forward. Lifting her bow and setting the arrow to the string without drawing it, she laughs and calls back in the same language, "Your sword's blade will not fly faster than my arrow!" Advancing with Istadris, the point of her dart now laid upon them, her grin widens again as he draws back his hood and reveals himself to the women. The look on Sionell's face is enough to cause Finnabair to laugh aloud and giving up the game she lowers the bow and draws back her own hood, "And I.", she answers the messenger, looking half-apologetic.

Somewhat chagrined, but evidently relieved that her suspicions were correct, Aldawin keeps her weapon at the ready, uncertain if the woodsman means to engage her in a spar or not. The flash of a smile is allowed, but it quickly settles to watchfulness as Istadris takes steps forward. Looking to the yet-veiled Finnabair, Aldawin can only admit her 'trespass' and gives a steady sigh. "Aye, we are some ways from the hill," she begins, glancing to the messenger with a quelling look, "however we are not strayed far enough to cause any great concern. And besides..there are two of us." She looks towards Finnabair; her glance holds question.

With spear held firmly in both hands, Istadris allows himself a short, soft bout of laughter at Sionell's broken branch. His grey eyes dart to Finnabair as the ranger removes her concealing hood, though his head shakes in response to the healer's words. "The two of you would hardly be a match for any clever robber." He says, before turning the weapon's haft over and resting it atop his right shoulder. "So why have you heeded not our cautioning?" He wonders, now frowning with seeming disapproval as he walks towards the two Beor women, "I thought we had an understanding. What has brought the two of you so far from the hill, alone, and so late in the day?"

Former surpise gives way to slight indignance as Sionell sighs. "I see...we have been played well and truly." she murmers, sheepishly, the "branch" lowering limply to her side. Were it not for the gloom discerning eyes would have seen the flush of embarrassment painting her cheeks, a colour rivaling her flaming hair. "We...went for mushrooms?" she says slowly as if pondering , it were sufficent enough an explaination, before voicing the words in a somewhat unsteady tone. "But...we have learned our lesson...and will not err again.."she adds hastily eyeing the spear with obvious discomfort.. A slight smile just briefly touches her lips, as she looks to Finnabair, though little of the amusement is told in the grey eyes that now lower with marked embarrassment.

From the path, a tall figure can be seen winding his way down, picking carefully over the loose stones that line the path, and walking over some of the loose patches of earth. In the cool temperatures, the man wears heavy, dark clothes, and wears a longhandled axe in a sort of shoulder sling. For those who have met him, they can identify him as Reynulf, a Warden in these parts.

Grunting, as a particularly brisk gust of wind strikes him, he makes his way towards the group or Dorthonions.

Lowering the short sword by her side, Aldawin seems stung by the woodsman's disapproval, yet endures it silently at first. It is only when he asks why they have ventured so far into the forest that the healer offers an explanation. "When my mother bids me find mushrooms for even's supper, she thinks not of where such a task might lead me, and as I assured her that I had seen some just days ago at the foot of the hill, I was willing to tread some paces further in search of them." She glances at the messenger with a faint smile and the shake of her head. "Blame not Sionell," she says, looking squarely to Finnabair and Istadris in turn, "She followed as I led."

The arrow back in its case and the bow slipped to one shoulder, Finnabair strikes across the short distance to join the three, nodding at Istadris' disapproving tones, "Not just played, Sionell, though I hope you have learned the lesson. What if we had been brigands? You may have lost more than just a gathering of mushrooms and your mother, Aldawin, would starve." she says, stopping before them. Though the hood is gone, the lowering of the sun behind the trees leaves the forest in shadows deep and dark of a sudden and Finnabair glances toward the day's last light, "Night draws on and time you should return to the hill.", she says.

The cloak-clad Beor woodsman's shouldes roll with a light shrug, and he reaches up to hold the sturdy spear's haft in both hands and over his shoulders. "No matter now." He says, glancing down the narrow trail and to where the stream's waters can be faintly seen in a lonely patch of dimming, scarlet-hued sunlight. "And you have still to find those mushrooms?" He asks, only to fall silent as he first catches sight of the Haladin man approaching from further up the path. "Hail, there!" He calls out in common Sindarin, while lowering the spear down to his side and looking to Finnabair, "Perhaps you should accompany Sionell back to the hillside? Aldawin and I shall find those mushrooms quickly before returning."

A wry look enters Sionell's eyes at Finnabair's words and she nods, wordlessly. "I accept equal blame.."she ventures to add quietly, pulling the cloak about her slightly as the wind lends its chill breath to her small frame. " It is a lesson well learnt." Her tone is grave now and solemnity wraps each word as she listens to both the ranger and woodsman speak. Her quiet gaze falls on Aldawin, whom she grants a slight smile, however uncertain it may seem under the cirumstances. The arrival of the Haladin warder, does not pass unnoticed for she turns her head slightly towards his approach, dipping her head slightly in wordless greeting.

Unfazed by the foreign language being hurled in his direction, "Good Day," comes the seemingly quiet reply from the Haladin man as he approaches. The Sindarin language is oddly accented, and might almost be difficult to understand were it not for the simplicity of the greeting. Shifting the axe upon his shoulder to a more comfortable spot, he approaches to a closer point.

Two the pair that he already knows on a first-name basis, he nods, "G'day, Sionell... Aldawin." To the messenger, he adds, "Yer wanted at Amon Obel, lass. Something... about a question of... a message ye dropped off th' other day. Warden Oscrow." After delivering this terse verse, his stoney gaze turns now to Istadris and Finnabair, a gleam of curiosity showing itself there.

Her gaze shifting between the woodsman and ranger, Aldawin finally looks to the former as he asks after her errand. "Aye, they are expected," she says quietly, though another's voice enters the conversation as well, and turning to the tall Haladin that strides down the trail and makes mention of Sionell's need back in Amon Obel, the healer offers a quiet "Good even, Reynulf" to the Warden.

Turning to look down the path up which comes the tall man, Finnabair narrows her eyes through the gloaming and then settles back upon her heels as he answers Istadris' call, addressing the others by name. Marking the axe he carries with interest, she looks away to say to Sionell, "If you are needed than I will see you back.", already turning herself toward the hill. "We shall see you back there.", she adds over her shoulder, walking quickly along the path already under shadow of night and she can be heard making idle conversation with Sionell as they go.

"Oscrow?" murmers the lass, looking even paler than before the thought of meeting the throny warder yet again, sending her back into another state of nervousness. "I'll be off.."she mumbles somewhat incoherently, dipping her head slightly in parting. She hastens after the ranger , lifting her voice in quiet banter as they head towards the hill.