Brithiach: West Bank of Sirion
The river Sirion flows quietly from the northeast here. Windswept plains of gorse and grass grow right up to its edge. The river is shallow enough here to be forded and the road seems to continue on the other side. To the West the road skirts along the north edge of a forest. Silvery green birches and pines dominate its growth, and a high hill amidst stands out as well to the south.

Hidden archers watch the river banks from their posts high up in the great trees at the edge of the woods.

Snow swirls upon the air and a full moon darts in and out of the rolling clouds that race across the skies, driven by the winter's wind. The river runs quietly aside the camp and across its shallowest point a dark figure splashes and then walks upon the road that continues on the other side, greeting the archers hidden along the bank in a quiet voice as she enters the warden's camp. Drawing back her deep hood, Finnabair makes directly toward the healer's tent, declining an invitation called out to join those at the fire.

The healer's tent seems more given to providing food and drink nowadays than healing, with a large brazier at its center and a mulling pot set to warming a strong cider in its metal belly. Even now, a handful of Haladin help themselves to the brew, taking shuffling steps towards the brazier to warm their hands before they return to cold evening. In one corner of the tent, Aldawin sits upon a cot in idle consideration of the old Haladin Healer Meg, who--about 5 paces away--is preparing herbs for a decoction. The Beor healer has healed from her wounds on the surface, for all sign of injury has faded to hardly a scar, but her right arm remains closely bandaged against her--preventing movement of arm or shoulder.

Finnabair draws aside the tent door and steps inside and stands a moment, removing her cloak and setting down her arms, until her eyes grow accustomed to the light. The left sleeve of her shirt is stained dark with blood, a small tear through the fabric. Looking across the interior of the tent, she finds Aldawin, awake and alert, resting upon a cot and engaged in conversation with one of the healers and she paces the short distance across the tent to join them. "Aldawin.", she calls quietly, nodding toward the elderly healer beside her, "You look a great deal better then last I saw you.", she says, pulling a small stool over next to the cot and taking her seat upon it.

Finnabair's entrance into the large tent draws Aldawin's gaze away from the small pile of dried herbs the Meg works on; her brows furrow in concern at the sight of blood upon the ranger's shirt-sleeve. "You have met with the enemy?" the other Beor voices darkly, the inquiry after her own condition ignored for the moment. "Do you need healing for that?" This brings Meg's attention to the Beor ranger as well, her green gaze sharp upon the stained shirt and tear.

Finnabair nods and looks down at her bloody sleeve, "I have and I do.", she answers, tugging it up to reveal a long but shallow cut between her elbow and wrist, "It is not deep. The bleeding has stopped and I do not think the dart was poisoned. It needs only be cleaned and wrapped", she says, resting her arm out straight upon her knee. "But what of you, Aldawin?", she asks, staring at the healer's bandaged right arm, "Last time I saw you, you had taken many wounds from the Gaur. Now it looks as though you have nearly mended, and you are awake.", she adds.

Meg's gaze narrows as she overhears the woman talking, and there is little to keep her from commenting, "Well, ye'll make certain that ye not leave before I can take a look at it then, after ye've finished speaking, eh?"

Aldawin, for her part, suppresses a smile at Meg's blunt requirement, though raises her grey gaze after; her smile seems forced. "Aye, nearly mended am I, though I shall need more healing to recover use of my arm than can be offered here. I am set for Nargothrond as soon as escort can be spared to send me. Bremen had offered this, but it seems they are hard-pressed as you." Her glance turns uncertain, given to the tent's exit, then back to Finnabair. "How close is the enemy?" she wonders. "And how fare our folk upon the watches?"

Finnabair's eyebrows lift and she nods dutifully to the old healer, "I will make certain of it.", she assures her. Turning back solemnly to Aldawin, she answers first, "They are close, but do not trouble yourself with worry. They are kept back from these borders by the wardens, who are a hardy and determined folk. Much like the Beor they are in that.", she smiles, faintly, and returns to her own questions. "But you are to be taken to Nargothrond?", she asks, sounding surprised, "How long do you think you shall be there?"

Bound as her arm is, Aldawin's right hand is unwrapped and free from any bandaging; she now opens and closes it, her gaze lowered to the slight motion. "I sleep well knowing that borders are guarded well," she seems to add in correction of any belief to the contrary. "I know not how long I shall stay. I hope no longer than a season, and if anything much less." The healer then goes silent, and for the brief spell all that can be heard is the sound of Meg stripping the buds and dried leaves from the herbs two cots down. "I do not wish to go,"Aldawin then says quite suddenly, her grey eyes lifted to look, wide and regretfully, to Finnabair. "I know I am no use here. I do not even know that I shall ever wield with this arm again. I cannot now. But to leave is a hard thing for me."

Finnabair stirs uncomfortably upon the stool and falls quiet, gazing over at the older healer as she busies herself about the tent. "A season.", she says finally, frowning to herself, "That seems a fair, long while, Aldawin.", she nods, looking back at the woman, "But it is winter. It will pass quickly and you will be back for spring.", she says, trying to sound bright, "I am certain the Eldar will have enough skill to have you swinging your sword again, or at the very least plying bandages.", she grins, ruefully, "And think, you will be in the caverns of Nargothrond and you will learn from their healers. It will not be so bad as you think."

A soft chuckle is released upon this assurance by the other Beor to Aldawin, who nods in concert with the ranger's words. "You sound exactly as Istadris when I voiced the same to him," she says with an unwilling smile. "You are both right," she says, "and I know for myself that I would say the same to any other." Her glance flashes across to Meg, and then the younger healer switches from speaking the common to the speech of Beor, her tone but a whisper. "But we have suffered much Finnabair, and have been driven from our lands. I know it is foolish. But leaving yet again for me...even if only for a season, seems yet another defeat."

Finnabair straightens in her seat and shakes her head, "I will make you a promise, Aldawin. Brethil will not fall. It will be still stand when you return. The Haladin and the Beor fight together now", she says, rising from her place and setting the stool back against the wall of the tent, "But I expect it to be as hard as was in Dorthonion, so you had best learn as much as you can from the Eldar, Aldawin.", she says sternly, "You will be needed here. So go, have the Eldar look to you and be sure that you are back by spring. Once the snows clear, the fighting will grow fierce."

Aldawin's gaze lifts as Finnabair stands and sets the stool near the wall of the tent. "I have little choice," Aldawin says, "though I would fight beside you--" She clips her own words and once more the latter's gaze lowers as she falls to silence and closes her right hand to a fist. "Thank you, Finna," she says, and what other of her thoughts might be held to her sober expression are sealed behind a tight smile.

From where she stands, Finnabair eyes Aldawin for a moment and then tugs at her bloody sleeve, "I had best have this looked to.", she says, brushing aside the sombre moment with simple words, "I will see you before you go, Aldawin. If you find yourself in need of something to do until then, perhaps I shall give you my shirt to mend.", she jests as she walks off toward one of the young healers seated on the other side of the tent.