September 5, 2001

Old Road, Northwest Corner of Forest Brethil
The trail leads into the forest, the silvery trees growing closer together as it winds among them. The birchs here are not as tall as those deeper within the woods, so there is some light slanting down between the branches. The forest floor is covered with dried leaves and twigs, the packed earth of the path kept cleared. A few wild flowers poke their heads up from between the leaves and debris, and the trunks of some of the older trees are covered by a soft, dark green moss.

The forest's shadows grow long and inky with the coming of evening, and very little of the passing sun's warmthless sunlight manages to penetrate the entangled mess of leaves and branches that form the woods' canopy overhead. Despite such a blanketing cover, the light rains that have soaked Brethil in the past days come drip down in thick drops upon the old road and the undergrowth. Everything is soaked to bone or root at this point, and the air grows unseasonably chilly with the night's approach.

Despite the vileness of this wet weather, this section of the old road remains yet guarded by Haladin watchmen. Not far to the south lies the encampment formed by the visiting Marachian men, and still a greater distance north is the edge of the forest--as well as the yrch who roam those parts. Here, however, beneath what little shelter is afforded by a great oak's branches, stands Istadris on watch. The woodsman is wrapped in his own cloak, and rests crouched beside his sheathed longsword and a light supply pack just some dozen yards from the eastern edge of the road.

The apprentice walks up to the oak, standing on the other side as the Beorian. Noting his subdued tone, she lowers her voice as well as she replies. "It wouldn't have been, if I'd had a proper forge and grinding wheel," she says slowly. "I didn't get the fire quite as hot as I should have liked."

Istadris nods thoughtfully in response to the other's words, and wordlessly slips the longsword from its encompassing sheath. The weapon's blade looks to be in relatively good condition, yet the Beor's sharp grey eyes dart immediately to the recently patched section along the otherwise keen edge. "Will it hold, you think?" He asks of Leana, before reaching up to tug idly at the soaked folds of his heavy cloak. Drivulets of cold rain run down his uplifted hood, and the woodsman lifts a hand to wipe irritably at his brow and eyes. "Or should I see about finding a new sword before long?"

"I think it should hold," Leana says with a thoughtful frown. "I wouldn't have given it back to you if I didn't think it would suffice. But I've dealt only rarely with swords, so my opinion might not turn out to be worth much in this instance. It certainly won't last as long as the rest of the sword ... so keep your eyes open for an opportunity to get a new sword. Not that I think one will come up anytime soon about here."

Another figure approaches from the south, a tall young woman in quiet, yet audible footfalls--her cloaked figure stepping slowing upon a narrow, muddied path that leads towards the old road. The smell of dinner cooking upon the campfires is still noticeable, though wanes as surely as the light, dampened as it is by the misty rains.

Continuing in her steps, Aldawin slows at the sound of voices ahead and peers through the entangling branches and new greenery of the birches. Carrying the large canvas and leather satchel at her side, the healer now comes into plainer view of the two, and recognising the apprentice smithy, Leana, raises her hand in a greeting to both. "Good even!" she calls--still a good dozen paces away--offering a smile with her words.

The woodsman runs his right thumb cautiously along the edge of the sword's keen blade, lingering a little longer along two particular spots--Leana's recent notch patching, and further up the blade, where a second, less recent repair was made. "Perhaps I shall inquire with the Marachian." He says, still speaking in a hushed voice, "Though it is doubtful they carry any such spare weapons." A wry smile curves the tracker's thin lips as he looks to the road once more and adds, "If all else fails, I could rob one of the bandits in the hope he carries one of the swords they stole."

The healer's abrupt call shatters the surrounding area's tranquility, and Istadris flinches quite visibly at her greeting. His gray eyes lift, seeking Aldawin's own with a sharp look, and he lifts a finger to his lips to signal for silence. His brow furrows irritably, and he quickly beckons for the other to approach.

Lee turns and lifts an arm in greeting at Aldawin, twisting a wry smile at the healer before turning back to looking at the road as she replies to Istadris. "I know Baradil was looking to sell his sword as of a few days back, but I also know he had a new recruit who didn't have a weapon. You might see how that worked out. I wish they had brought a smith or two with them for me to learn from instead of just a bunch of ..." Leana pauses, searching for the Sindarin word she intends to use next. However, she is not aware of the translation of that particular Halethian epithet, and so suffices with finishing lamely, "Scouts."

Between the grey spaces of the trees to the west slips a lone figure moving ever closer to the open way of the old road. The rain has damped her drab garb and it swings heavy off her form as presently she jumps down from a shoulder of rock onto the wet needles at the forest's edge, then to stride boldly across the road to its east side. Though the day's light has dimmed, in plain sight she comes, bow hold in hand down at her side with the usual accompaniment of her axe resting on her back.

Istadris sinks down from his crouching position to sit nestled between two of the oak's thick, jutting roots. Careless of the muddy soil beneath, he leans back once more against the tree's trunk and slowly slides the length of his blade back into its sheath. "I should see about it, then." He says to Leana, even while watching the Beorian healer's approach, "But why would Baradil wish to sell his sword?" His brow furrows deeply with seeming curiousity, "Why does he have a sword in the first place? I've not seen him touch such a weapon ever."

Even as he speaks, Istadris' sharp gaze is drawn towards the road he supposeely watches, and there by Finnabair's familiar form as she emerges from the press of trees across.

While the healer's voice is not truly of the volume lent to 'shattering,' it is well above the more soft-spoken tones of the others, and the woodsman's warning and severe glance, as well his motion to be silent, bids just that of the Beor healer, who halts just a moment in her steps before continuing on. Finnabair's arrival is acknowledged wordlessly, with a wave of the healer's hand that might be seen or missed, and clutching the basket more tightly in her grasp, Aldawin reaches the others at last, content to listen to the conversation between smithy and woodsman.

"Nor have I, though he's attacked me with his spear," Leana notes dryly, idly pulling a bit of bark off of the trunk as she speaks. "And I don't know why he has a sword in the first place, as he claims he never /does/ use it. So that's why he wants to sell it, at least." Lee's gaze is drawn to Finnabair as all the others look towards her, and she straightens up slightly and lifts an arm in greeting shortly after Aldawin does so.

The woodsman looks away from the road to look more closely upon Aldawin, and his curious gaze is drawn immediately to the basket she carries in hand. "If your call did not draw every orchish snuffler to us, Aldawin..." He says with a wry smile in amused tones, "Whatever you have in that basket surely shall." Another look is briefly directed to Finnabair as she nears the treeline, though his next words are still hushed and meant for the ears of healer and smithy only. "Why would Baradil attack you with his spear?" He asks, almost immediately shaking his head and glancing wide-eyed to Leana as he adds, "Er, perhaps I need not hear the answer to that." With a low, heaving sigh, the Beorian tracker gestures for Aldawin to join him, "What have you brought there, Aldawin? Supper for us weary sentries?"

With eyes set upon the forest ahead of her, Finnabair's gaze flints through the grey trees. At first seeing nothing, the flash of some quick movement draws her gaze and, slowing, she looks more intently upon the spot, spying one, perhaps two figures nestled there against a tall oak. Wary, she enters the forest and hides herself quickly among the trees, making her way amongst them toward the place, bow ready.

"Oh, he thought I was a bandit," Leana replies with a smirk. "Because the bandits walk openly down the main roads in Brethil carrying lanterns, I'm sure. The idiot. It's a good thing he discovered his mistake before actually managing to hit me." Lee also glances at the basket Aldawin holds, though refrains from adding her queries to Istadris's.

Motioned forth by the woodsman, Aldawin offers a wry smile of her own as she holds the basket to Istadris. "I figured that something more palatable than dried meat and cheeses would be appreciated," she says--her voice carefully lowered to match the others now. "I do not know who was in charge of the cooking for this even, but t'was a better offering than last evening's meatless stew," she says, lifting the cloth that covers the contents of the basket, which includes a succulent portion of roasted meat and well-cooked root vegetables. Aldawin's brow raises at Leana's comment, and she fairly stifles a snicker at the disclosure. "Mistaking you for a bandit? Aye, perhaps his eyes do not see clearly."

Istadris rises once again to a low crouch as Aldawin lifts the cloth from atop the basket she carries. His grey eyes widen hungrily, and he gives a wordless nod of approval before gesturing for the other to sit by him. Yet the smithy's own words soon regain his attention, and he shakes his head with amused disbelief before letting out a low chuckle and turning to watch the edge of the road where last he had seen Finnabair's cloaked figure. "Aye, that sound just like the--" He begins in reply, cutting his own words off abruptly as he finds that the Beorian ranger has vanished from sight. The tracker's right hand lifts immediately to call for silence, and he begins to rise slowly from the muddy soil at the foot of the tall oak. "Wait here." He whispers to the two, before stooping to retrieve the sword from the muddy ground and slipping soundlessly around the tall oak tree--into the concealing press of brambly brush and shadowy foliage.

Not far now from where the three gather together under the tree, Finnabair creeps forward through the gloom of the forest until the trees thin and the figures reappear, distinct and familiar. Straigtening and walking openly toward them, she hails the two woman by name, "Aldawin. Leana.", she speaks softly, "What are you doing here?", she asks as she comes upon them.

"They don't," Leana mutters back to Aldawin, still with that same smirk on her face before pausing abruptly as Istadris slips suddenly away from the tree and out of sight. She frowns thoughtfully and takes the hood of the cloak down from where it hung over her face, partially obscuring her vision, and glances about with an attentive gaze and puzzled expression. She takes one step away from the tree to peer in the direction that Istadris departed, but keeps her fingertips on the trunk as though it were 'base' in a children's game. She jumps, clearly startled, when Finnabair hails her. "Well, I was talking with Istadris, but he just disappeared," she replies, still looking slightly confused. "I suppose he saw something or other..."

Just as the healer begins to sit as beckoned, the woodsman is quickly brought to his feet once more and disappears into the covering, leafy shadows. Watching after him until he has gone from sight, Aldawin gives a shrug to Leana before Finnabair's quiet greeting brings her attention back to the Beor ranger. "Good even, Finnabair," she greets softly, motioning to the press of trees and underbrush behind them. "There seems much to keep the attention of trackers and watchmen lately...And what is this about Baradil selling a sword?" Aldawin asks, looking to Leana once again.

The woodsman paces quietly around the broad oak's trunk, passing beyond sight of the others as the surrounding foliage swallows up his cloaked and mud-stained figure. Finnabair's words have hardly been given reply by the other two, however, when he once again reappears--from around the opposite side of the oak now, to the ranger's right side. "Excuse me." He utters in hushed tones, before stepping over one of the thick tree roots and coming to standing amongst his companions. "I noticed Finnabair vanish..." He explains in all seriousness to Aldawin and Leana, "...and thought she meant to teach me a lesson for being lazy and lax in my duties." Though his countenance seems stony and expressionless, a faint gleam in his cool grey eyes betrays some manner of amusement, as he looks straight to Finnabair and asks, "Were you?"

Leana lifts her shoulders in a brief shrug. "He just has one that he wants to sell -- I know neither where he got it or why he kept it so long when he doesn't use one. Istadris may need a new sword if the patch I put in it doesn't hold, and that's how the subject came up." Lee grins wryly as Istadris comes back around and explains his sudden disappearance, but she does not comment -- after all, she didn't even notice Finnabair disappear in the first place.

Finnabair looks about, "Was he?", she asks Leana, setting the tip of her bow to the ground and glancing toward Aldawin, about to ask another question, when Istadris suddenly reappears from out of the forest. Turning toward the woodsman, she eyes him up and down, meeting his expression with one like it, "No, I was not. Though you could take a few lessons from me. Shall I teach you?", she asks soberly, shifting her weight casually to one foot as she holds the tall bow at her side, "Later I will.", she says, breaking into a wide grin, "But what are the three of you at here, now? What of Baradil?", she wonders.

Aldawin chuckles at the woodsman's words, looking to Finnabair next as well in waiting for her answer, though does find herself leaning against the rough bark of the tall oak with a telling sigh. "Lax and lazy his is surely not," she says of Istadris with a grin, reaching up to rub at the back of her neck. "Though I am after sleeping wrong upon my neck yestereven." She quiets to hear Finnabair's answer, her own mouth broadening in a grin. "I would rather you teach me, Finnabair," she chimes in with a chuckle, then motions to the basket upon the ground near the tree. "I was bringing some food to Istadris before the greedy Marachians came upon our camp to take the rest of it," she says with a nod of her head towards the camps in the distance. "And what of you? What have you been about, Finnabair?"

Leaning her back against the tree trunk, Leana closes her eyes for a moment, looking somewhat frustrated. "Baradil has a sword that he doesn't need. I'm sure it's a fairly common situation," she says shortly in response to the ranger's query. As Aldawin speaks, Leana nods and turns to Finnabair suddenly, as though remembering something. "Oh, aye. I've been meaning to ask you to teach me a bit on the axe, myself. My father won't, and I hear you're a fair hand with it ..."

"I think I would pass on the offer." Says the woodsman in response to Finnabair's words, though his lips also break into a crooked grin. His gray eyes widen, strained in the swiftly-growing darkness of evening as he looks to each of his three companions in turn. "I am on watch, officially, you know." He reminds all three, again frowning, "In case there is trouble down the road." The tracker gives a slight shrug of his shoulders, and leans aside against the oak's thick trunk. "Though here so close to camp, it is mostly a watch in case messengers approach. We've seen no yrch so near here in weeks." Istadris soon falls silent as the Smithy once again explains the situation with Baradil, and he gives a quick shrug of his shoulders. "I shall visit the Marachian camp in the morn, I think." He adds quietly, while edging past Finnabair and moving over to look eagerly into Aldawin's basket.

Finnabair raises her brows at the healer's question, "What have I been about?", she repeats, "Well, with Istadris taking his ease here, even having his meals brought out to him,", she adds, gesturing to the basket of food that Aldawin bears and the woodsman descends greedily upon, "Someone must take care of the duties he neglects. On watch!", she snorts at his comment, lifting up her bow and adding with a grin, "Careful you do not grow fat, Istadris." Tugging at her cloak and readying herself to depart, she looks over the three, returning to seriousness, "I did not know the Marachian were here, but I cannot stay to hear of it. Farewell for now!", she says, , parting their company and slipping off through the dark trees, heading toward the camp.

Finnabair stops short before the shadows, turning back to Leana, "We shall have to see about that, Leana.", she answers her, nodding. At that she turns again, disappearing into the dark.

Aldawin's grey gaze lifts to seek a break in the thickly-shadowing branches overhead, and she lets the covering hood of her cloak fall from her head, not caring to replace it as she turns once more in heed of the conversation. She only smiles as Istadris replies to the other ranger, though shows a bit more interest as Leana inquires of lessons in the axe from the other. Looking back to smithy's apprentice in question, Aldawin spares a glance also to the woodsman who retrieves the basket of food. "Would your father begrudge you lessons if given of another?" she wonders, her voice lowered.

"Well, ideally he wouldn't find out," Leana says ruefully, brows still knit in puzzlement over Finnabair's response. "But I don't know if Finnabair would agree to that. Maybe I'll just scream at my father sometime and see if I can't get him to give permission. I'm not going to seek out escort every time I need to travel in the forest, and I'm not near so bad as I used to be..." The apprentice is quickly distracted as well towards the basket as attention is drawn to it. "So what have you got in there again, Aldawin? And how much of it?" she asks with interest. Not that she has any right to be so interested, of course, as she supped earlier at the camp.

From where he has sunk down to one knee upon the muddy soil by the roots of the towering oak tree, Istadris listens on to the exchange taking place between the three others. His gray eyes lift from the basket at hand only briefly as Finnabair announces her departure. "Go easy." He calls simply to the ranger, before looking once more at the mouth-watering food that the healer has brought out with her. Quickly wiping his grimey hands off on a cleaner section of his cloak, the woodsman reaches down to tear a chunk from the loaf of crusty bread within, and lays a slab of the roasted meat upon it. "Help yourselves." He mutters, rising to his feet once again and pacing a few steps away from the oak tree as he begins to supp upon the morsel in hand.

Aldawin offers a farewell to Finnabair, too, as the other takes her leave--though soon after turns a grin to Istadris as he takes some food from the basket and tells the others to help themselves. "Nay, I have already eaten," Aldawin says, motioning Leana to the basket that sits near the tree's wide base. "Tis a bit of venison, but cooked in a way that almost puts my mother's attempts to shame. I shall have to ask the cook his secret," she offers with a grin, falling silent to consider Leana's words. "Why must you say anything to your father?" she voices after a moment, giving a shrug as she stands away from where she has leaned against the great oak. "You are right, after all. The forests are not safe with bandits about, and now the threat of the yrch."