August 27, 2001

Warden Encampment
Various low tents and temporary shelters have been arrayed here between trunks and concealing foliage, well hidden amidst the dense press of trees here near the northwestern corner of Brethil's woods. The area is watched by silent Haladin guardsmen who patrol mostly unseen and unheard through the trees, as well as by arches perched high above in the branches.

Early morning still holds the dim of evening as the first, tentative rays of the sun filter through the eastern sky. The spring air is chill, and frost lightly coats the tender buds of yet unsprung leaves on some of the birches and maples. Fires in the camp are lighted, but remain unseen under the cover of the canvas and leather tents, with only the vague trailing of smoke which curls through the vents.

Peering out of one of these shelters--squinting even in the early morn's light--Aldawin looks out to the camp and reaches up to rub at her eyes. Shed is her suede tunic, with the earth-colored shirt draping loosely over her figure.

Arriving from the east, Finnabair crosses through the encampment, stopping briefly at one of the small fires to accept simple fare to break her fast: tough, hardy bread, aged cheese and a steaming mug. Chewing through her first bite she carries on amongst the tents, footsteps crushing the frozen ground softly underfoot until she comes to stand only a short distance from Aldawin.

Allowing a moment for her eyes to focus, Aldawin looks for a moment at the female ranger before she seems to recognise her. "Finnabair," she says, her gaze wandering eastward from whence the other has come. "Have you just returned to camp?" She licks her lips as the aroma of the steaming beverage reaches her.

Finnabair moves quickly between bites of bread and cheese to sips from her mug while she idly considers the forest surrounding the camp. Upon hearing her name called though, she turns about, finding Aldawin nearby and toward her she steps, "Only to eat.", she says around a mouthful, "How is your wound?", she asks, gesturing with her mug at the healer's side.

The healer's brows raise as Finnabair discloses she is only there briefly, though as she is questioned about her wound, Aldawin seems to dismiss it with an awkward shrug. "T'is an inconvenience only," she says, folding her arms before her and betraying that the torn fabric has not yet been mended. She glances down to the tear, frowning. "I should mend that today," she murmurs, at the same time lifting her gaze to the ranger. "But tell me why so brief a stay, and what news is there of the borders?"

Finnabair finishes off the small meal and washes it down with the last of the drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve as she returns Aldawin's answer with a somewhat doubtful look, "See to it that you not inconvenience yourself again.", she says with little humour, "The stay is brief because there is work to do. The yrch still harry Brethil's borders and I think they find your winged friend a tempting prize. She is still there.", she says, tossing her head toward the east.

The rays of early morn, lend visiblity enough to those that wander on foot through the press of pine and birch and the obsuring shadow of the woods, gives little recognition to the grey clad figure that approaches. A crunching of leaves and twigs underfoot betrays, the young messenger's aptitude for stealth, and finding her attention caught by faint strains of voices...in her an all too familiar tongue, she smiles slightly. Relieved perhaps, for the less than aimless stride lengthens, to a gait altogether purposeful and so she draws nearer the source , coming towards the tent and the two women on quick steps. "G'morn, Mi'ladies.." is the greeting Sionell calls towards both women, eyes twinkling.

"Still?" Aldawin voices in unsual economy as she steps fully out of the tent now--bootless but covered of her leggings and the long shirt. She seems to ignore the frost-given ground as she takes several steps to peer eastward, though her search yields little. "I cannot see her," she says with another shrug, gripping her hands to her arms a bit more with the chill. "Ah, well. The yrch are attracted to the eagle? I would rather think that they would be warded away from it--"

The cheered greeting of the approaching messenger interrupts further musings, and the healer's expression lifts to a smie. "Sionell?" Disbelief colors the voice. "But...you are here. That is a surprise, indeed."

Finnabair nods her head, "They are.", she answers, "There is always a scout or two to watch over." On the other side of the camp a few voices call to one another and Finnabair looks toward them. "We are off again.", she announces, looking to the healer and before she turns away to depart, "We should return ere sunset.", adding, "Good morrow Sionell!", to the messenger as she passes her on her way back across the camp.

"G'morrow Finnabair" A dip of the head is granted as the ranger passes and drawing her steps to an abrupt halt before the healer, Sionell twitches a smile. "A surprise indeed..."Hands, move outwards from the confines of the long grey cloak to her hips and tilting her head in mock disapproval, the young Beor sighs, is apparent wistfulness. "Still...I am here" The quiet voice, bears ample pause before she smirks and mutters conspiratorily to the other, "Well Aldawin, one might have thought...ye were not gladdened to see me. And after I've come all this way to deliver a message to ye." A brief moment is then spent, in severe if not playful admontion, the grey eyes squinting at the other. "What ill fortune indeed"

Hurried strides bear Istadris across the scattered Haladin encampment, between silvery birch trunks and past a handful of the concealed shelters as he makes his way to where some of the other warriors have gathered. The tracker's lean, armour-clad figure is swathed in his cloak of green and gray, and while no pack encumbers him this morn, the sheathed longsword, bow, and quiver still hang at his back and shoulders. The drifting sound of familiar voices carries him to where the three Beorians exchange words, and his bare left hand is quickly raised in farewell to the departing ranger as she passes a short way ahead. "Morning." He calls out simply to the others, with a subdued smile directed at Aldawin, and a more astonished look to Sionell. "News from the hill?" He calls questioningly, upon reaching the messenger.

Still folding her arms before her, her feet curled upon the half-frozen ground, Aldawin gives a nod and calls a farewell to the hastily-departing Finnabair. "Good day, Finnabair. Take care upon the watches." But upon utterance of this, the gaze is turned curiously back to the messenger. "Not gladdened to see you?" And the healer looks unsure for a moment. "Aye!" she contends, "but I am. There is just much that is distracting me, I suppose..." Another distraction is the woodsman who calls in greeting next, and returning the smile, Aldawin nevertheless looks once more to Sionell, prodding her with her words. "Yes..and what news from the hill? From whom?"