As the sun rises on the woods of Lothlorien, a mist has settled along the ground. While it does not often rain and never is there a storm or gale force wind, the air does grow thick and pregnant with moisture which it must expel from time to time... usually around dawn. Byt the time the sun rises high into the sky the clouds will have been burned away, but for now a fog rolls in and the air grows warm and humid.
Mia stands watch by the bank of the Celebrant, her eyes on the river as it rushes by, still full to the edge with the run-off from the mountain streams. Her spear is propped up beside her against a tree within reach, but her attention is elsewhere... floating downriver.
The calling of the waters, the rush of the Celebrant in it's mid-morning flow calls forth Erucolindo to the Naith with his cowl pushed high over his head, his features undiscernible behind the jet-black material that folds loosely over him, casting a shadow downwards to his face. He is armed, predictably, sheathed longsword by his hip; and bow and quiver behind him. His grey cloak swaddles him, a shapeless mass of grey and black as he makes his way toward the river.
Across the Celebrant,
Amid the heavy brush on the western bank, a hooded, cloaked figure stalks nearly imperceptibly, with a bow drawn and arrow nocked. From his garb and manner, he is clearly a hunter, in pursuit of game on his hungry trail. He glances about him silently, then removes his hood, revealing a pale, shorn head set with a single eye. His brow darkens at the realization that he has committed the cardinal sin of the hunter - he has tracked his breakfast further afield than the hidden trails he knows. Halting in his tracks, he takes in the scene about him, looking for whence he came.
A trio of figures shift and wade through the mist, a study of contrasts as they draw closer, edhel, elleth and child. The fair-haired edhel moves with lordly grace, circlet resting easily on his brow and a bow carried on his back. His eyes, a chill winter green are turned now and again to the elleth. Her eyes are the exact same shade, though they twinkle warmer, and her clothes are simple, dun and dusty. A tall staff she uses as a walking-stick, thumping to the ground with every few of her easy, long strides. Her own gaze is most frequently given to the child with clean hands and bow, though the rest of him is a tangled mess of stains. He has an alarming habit of dashing off into the fog, and the elleth frequently calls him back.
Rosgwaen, Caelwen and Iaurfer o Dinlom walk together this day.
A few paces away from the Banneret, squatting low with one arm resting upon a knew and a hand holding tightly to his spear, Vinyarod looks upstream. " The winter snows have begun to melt." he comments to no one in particular. " The water is higher along the bank, faster in it's journey, and much colder."
Rising slowly to his feet, a flock of birds take flight from the trees. The angry squawking from the birds fills the air. " Something moves across the river." the Knight says as he grips his spear tightly. " With the number of wolves and humans we've seen of late, I would be glad if it were a stumbling hedgehog or possibly an excited beaver." he says with a shake of his head, half joking but at the same time hinting at being serious. " Shall we take a patrol across the river to check?" he asks as he continues to look across the river.
Mia's eyes flick towards Erucolindo as he emerges from the fog, then the crafters of Dinlom and the child. Mere pauses she makes acknowledging each, a smile on her lips as she spies Iaurfer... Rhibi, but then she returns her gaze to the river. Perhaps it is movement... or maybe a hush from the creatures of the woods and the rustle of a leaf that is just not right... more likely it is some combination, but Mia lifts her head a bit and looks to the river's far side just as Vinyarod speaks. " Nay... the borders have been tightened considerably since the last encounter. If it was our group from before they would not be alive." She lifts her chin a bit and sniffs the air, her nostrils flaring slightly. " Still... send word to the far shore to make a sweep of the area."
Across the Celebrant,
At the avian commotion on the bank opposite, the cloaked hunter slowly folds himself deeper into the brush, squatting in what he hopes is better cover from any unseen watchers. His single eye turns to scan the eastern bank, but fixes itself on nothing particular. He remains silence personified, as he strains to hear what might be leaves rasping, or other, less innocuous, noises.
Silver mist swirls as silent footfalls cleave it, sending curling tendrils to lick the hem of a verdant cloak ere they fall again to dew-sodden mould, these wayward ghosts of the morn. Beside Caelwen and Iaurfer still does Rosgwaen Golfingund tread-- but his cold eyes are turned to his sister no more as the Knight and Banneret speak, for a hand unslings a darkling bow from his back, and his gaze settles upon the far bank of the Silverlode. Searching, seeking... finding nothing. " One cannot be over-cautious, Sain-estel." Yet still he looks to her not.
Rhibi is making no particular effort to be silent and his high voice floats across the misty tree-strewn ground quite clearly. " But Caelwen, I want to see if Mia is here.." he calls as he trudges reluctantly back from one such jaunt. Just then, his eye land on his hero and his words cut off abruptly, just in time to hear her mention a patrol. Mouth dropping, light hazel-green eyes widening enormously, he edges towards the Knight-Banneret. His small bow is clutched firmly in two white-knuckled hands and he is clearly listening with all his might.
The Knight draws close to the bank, keen elven ears picking up wafts of conversation from his fellow Knight and the Banneret. Though he stops short, he does not remove his gaze from the opposite bank, to the undergrowth which permeates green to all that would surround it, springtime leaves vibrant as emeralds. An air of tension pervades the Firstborn gathered here, and no exception is Erucolindo, as pale hand reaches back to find yew and feather. Arrow nocked to bow, eyes piercing and hearing keen...yet no target can he find.
" Stop it, Rogin," Caelwen complains. " You frighten me." Still, she slows in her tread and turns her uncertain face toward Erucolindo, then Mia and Vinyarod. Both hands now curl around her stave and dig the end firmly into the dampened dirt, and she peers across the river for a long moment. Finally, her bright gaze snaps toward the forward-creeping child. " Rhibi!" she hisses nervously. " Stay near me for a moment, please." For her own part, she takes a half-step backwards so she is more behind her brother.
The Knight's eyes flicker over those arriving, but his attention remains upon the distant river bank. All is quiet, but there had been something..... or possibly not. Elven hearing was good, elven sight better, but at this distance it could be anything. " If there is something present? I and I'm sure Erucolindo would gladly go across......" Vinyarod asks as his gaze rises slightly to the treetops on the distant shore, and the hidden guardsmen present.
Finally finding a well hidden squire in the trees farside, he thrice taps his slightly pointed ears on both sides with two fingers extended from his hands and then taps thrice under each eye with two fingers of each hand extended. Then with one hand he draws a circle in the air before him then completes the wordless instruction with a tap of a hand upon his chest. " It shouldn't take long till we hear something back." the Knight says as he turns a head toward the Banneret and then to the noise behind him.
Mia nods to the far bank, her words directed at Erucolindo though include all close enough to hear. " Tis likely just an animal... a wild pig or some such. Fire into the brush and scare it off... or kill it and we shall feast upon it by noon." But relaxed as her manner may be, she reaches for her own weapon and holds it close, her eyes trained on the still foliage going in and out of view thanks to the fog.
Vinyarod completes her orders and Mia nods, her tone lowering for him alone. " I would rather have you here, mellon. With the citizens so close, and Rhibi within sight..." She offers them a quick glance, a strained smile for the child before turning back. " I just hope that it is nothing."
From a quiver at the Indor's broad back is drawn a single shaft, feathered fletching held fast between long fingers as the arrow is nocked up a strand of ebon elf-tress. A step now Rosgwaen takes, slow and silent as is ever his wont, stepping before his sister that she may be almost hidden now from sight of the river. The river... and whatever may lie upon its far bank. Still he holds his bow at rest-- unbent, yet not unready, and the same shaft of Anor's pale morning-sheen that glints from the rune-graven dagger at his hip finds the edge of his dart-tip as well. gleaming once, twice, ere clouds and mist block the sun. " Stay behind me, sister. You and Iaurfer both. Distant banks may hold naught but the olvar and celvar, but still I trust them not."
" Don't call me Rhibi!" the child says, much more quietly and with a mutinous undertone. His cousin's other injuntion is ignored and he continues to sidle stealthily towards HER. Vinyarod's odd gestures earn a glance and then a second one, and by now he is close enough to dare a question. Or possibly two. " What is he saying? Is there someone over there?" The treasured bow, with its carven name is held closer to his chest, a small stick that doubles as an arrow grasped between the fingers of one hand.
A sharp nod in the direction of the Banneret and a shadowy grin neath his cowl are all the reactions Erucolindo gives to his orders. Peering out, the Knight tenses string and draws back the arrow, a soft creaking sounding out to those whose hearing might catch it. Aim is required, and aim does he take; towards the brush opposite the bank where he now stands. Little to go on does he that might be used as a target, but nonetheless he looses the string, his hand flicking away in a smooth, solid motion, as the dart flies true towards the brush...
" Please... I am sorry, Iaurfer!" Caelwen's head pokes sideways from behind Rosgwaen, so that she might see past him to the child. " Let the guards to their business and stay by Rosgwaen and I until they say it is safe, aye?" She tugs once at her brother's sleeve ere letting her hand slip back to her stave. " Can you make him come back? He never listens to me." She falls silent as her eyes trail the arrow's flight, and bites her lip.
The arrow arcs above the river and falls amid the undergrowth, not too far from the hidden hunter. A good shot, for a chance-cast shaft. The figure in the brush remains silent, craning his head to look more keenly across the river. Judging nearly blind, he half-lifts himself from his concealment, and raises his hunting bow and looses the strung arrow. Not bothering to trace its flight, he flattens to his belly, and crawls painfully slowly, as quietly as he can in a southwesterly direction, whence he came. The keenest of Elven eyes would be able to see that the shaft he fired is of their own making, though the shot is made with far less than their skill.
Watching the arrow make it's way across the river, Mia's reaction to return fire can only be described as completely shocked. Her eyes move immediately to where the arrow came from, but she can see by the movement of plants that even now the prey is off. " Fire!" She yells to those with arrows ready, " I only hope those guards on the other side are in position." She turns, her eyes off the action for just a moment as she moves back to Caelwen and the child and with a deft hand moves them out of the line of fire and into safety's arms. Two members of the Order, high ranking Knights both, flank the pair for protection. " Keep your heads down until I give word that all is well." Her command is quick and to the point before she is once more returning to the river.
Abruptly realizing that there is a real enemy shooting real arrows at /them/, Rhibi seems to lose his aura of carefree childishness; showing a little glimpse of the ability that kept himself and his comrades alive to Fangorn. He is already turning to run, when Mia's hand helps him along. And huddling down in the trees near Caelwen, he whispers to her, " Be very quiet and don't move." His bow, with its useless 'arrow' inexpertly placed on the string, is up and ready to shoot.
Not so much as a glance is spared for the child or potter, for the chill of the Indor's verdant gaze is fixed intently upon the distant bank, turned away not even by the shaft launched from the bracken there. Nay, nothing now turns his gaze, for a cry from the Banneret is given, and quickly his bow is bent, his shaft sighted upon the faint rustle of leaf upon leaf-- and an arrow is loosed, sundering mist from mist as it speeds toward its mark.
At the returned dart, Caelwen raises on her toes, seeming poised to flee and barely keeping herself still long enough for Mia and Rhibi to approach her. She then hustles to where the Banneret would place them, sticking very close to the child, and finally kneels beside him with her stave clattering to the ground. She whispers, " /You'/re a fine one to be talking about holding still and quiet!" with a nervous laugh, then entangles her hand into the back of his shirt to hold him there. She glances frequently up to the pair of guards near them, and to Rosgwaen, but mostly trembles with her head down.
From the the forest path a faint ruffle of soft feathers is heard as three green small birds come flying through the trees. They casually land on a low branch a bit away from the collected elves, not a care for the possibe perils of the situation. As they settle down, their full colorings show, which are like none seen in these forests.
Across the Celebrant,
The second arrow glints briefly in the growing daylight, before finding its mark wide of the crawling hunter, on the opposite side from the last shaft. He barely moving figure halts, and realizing that the shots have straddled his location almost perfectly, he rises quickly, with another arrow at the ready. With perfect silence and a hunter's patient discipline, he looses it at a shallower angle than before, as he's better able to gauge the distance. At its low apex, the arrow is longer than the last, and has a wicked black flint affixed to it. Its make is clearly Eastern in origin, and foul in intent.
As before, he drops to his belly, this time making his way to the southeast.
Only a breath passes, a mere instant in time, from the moment the arrow fires towards the border of Lorien. In the next breath, the point in which the arrow originated instantly becomes a garden in which arrows are planted. Soft pings are heard overhead and a whining cry of arrows in flight, each smacking deeply into the soil. Then as if it were an explosion moving outwards, arrows continue to fall from the sky, this time moving outwards.
In Naith, the sound of bows being pulled taunt add to the drama on the opposite side of the river and a new wave of arrows join in the search for that which dared to attack the mystical Golden Wood. Two rounds fall from the treetops, followed by a cry of a crow call out a warning of a stranger which quickly turns to the screech of a hawk calling out a warning of attack. The last piecing call of the hawk dies, leaving silence as the guard watch and wait for some sign of their next move.
His small tousled head never turns, but a scowl works its way across Rhibi's dirt-smeared face. "Shh!" He has become almost amazingly still - his brown and green clothing blending into the background and rendering him nearly invisible.
As the cry of warning is heard the birds begin to move uneasily, with the skreech of the hawk sending them hurling back towards the trees from whence they came. As they come some ways into the forest, however, they calm down, landing in front of something. It is an elf, wrapped in a volumnious green cloak with a nightengale embroidered in clear blue on on side of the hood. He sits crouched in the shadows, watching the happenings on the shore. (Cuardin)
The last arrow is loosed from the far bank, and this time it finds a mark less formidable than wood or metal shield. This time it finds flesh to pierce, and as Mia runs back towards the river she is sent stumbling back a step or two as the black-fletched missile slams into her shoulder. It is a glancing blow, one that opens the skin and allows a flow of red to stain her skin quickly, but the arrow itself does not imbed itself. Instead, it's forward motion almost completely halted, it wavers for a few more feet before clattering uselessly to the ground. Mia stands there... stunned, her spear falling to her feet as she reaches her hand up to the wound.
A small laugh, nervous and soft, works its way from Caelwen.. but the Cennan remains still, crouched beside her child-cousin, and just flicks her gaze around, watching all of this with a wary eye.
The black, second dart goes by Rosgwaen almost unmarked, so tightly locked is his gaze upon the distant back, so intent his pale hands upon firing another arrow to match the Guardsmen's volley. Indeed, it is only a hastened glance at the Banneret, perhaps in wait of her next command to the hidden archers, that draws eyes of cold verdant to the rivulets of red that run from Mia's shoulder. Those eyes then widen, thin brows of sable lowering over them in a chilly glare at the far bank, then turning once more to injured elleth. Footfalls yet graceful are hurried beyond their wont as he approaches her, but no words now are spoken.
Only an instant after the arrow from across the river hits, The crouched figure raises himself in one fluid motion, his cloak flowing about him as he lifts his hands to pull back the hood from over his head. He casts a definately nervous look towards the river as he approaches the Knight-Banneret with long decided strides muttering something under his breath. (Cuardin)
From Naith side, Vinyarod vigorously shoots off hand signals to the Guard both far side and upon the shore. "Follow him...." he hisses out as he motions moving southeasterly towards a balled fist which represented the enemy. Crossing his hands low then sweeping outwards in front of his face. "Unless...." he says as he completes the motion. Bringing a fist up with his thumb extended, he taps his thumb upon his forehead. "he attacks you."
Turning, he catches sight of the Banneret. His face burns with anger. "Is everyone alright?" he calls out with concern.
Two arrows lie spent across the river from the Knight's longbow, before he turns to survey the resulting volley. Deftly drawing back his hood, a calm and serene look permeate his visage. Nodding in reply to the question posed by Vinyarod, Erucolindo swiftly and effortlessly replaces an arrow into the leather quiver lying not entirely dormant on his back. Still clutching his longbow, he mimics Rosgwaen in moving towards the Banneret, though no skill in healing does he possess, scant words might he be able to offer.
"Fine!" Mia barks as she presses her hand to the wound and reaches down with the injured arm to retrieve her weapon. Her grip is tight upon the shaft, her knuckles white with strain as she makes her way back to the potter and the boy. The Knights guarding them sauter her, their eyes straying to the bloom of red upon her shoulder but she pays them no mind. "What of you?" She inquires of the pair of citizens, "No broken skin, only frazzled nerves?" She offers a smile and a nervous chuckle, but her own resolve is too strained now to make light of the situation.
Mia stands and turns to face the river, the retreating forms of officers heading out for the deep woods in pursuit. She waits for the Knights to join her and for those errant protectors of the woods to gather as well.
Still silent, for there is no sign the attack is ended, Rhibi does move now. But only his head, which turns to glare at Caelwen and then snaps immediately back to where the action is. Consternation immediately replaces the anger as the arrow grazes Mia's shoulder and he wavers in his place, rocking forward as if to rise, and then settling back again.
But when the others begin to converge on Mia, and she herself approaches his hiding place, he leaps up as if shot from a sling. "I am fine. So is she." Light eyes are drawn irresistably to the spreading stain, and he stammers just a little. "M-mia, I need to know how to shoot. AND I need real arrows." His voice is earnest and a glance of disgust at the stick he is carrying accompanies his words.
"You should have that seen and tended." Vinyarod says softly to Mia so not to appear to be offering any but a suggestion. "You would expect the same from the rest of us if it were we who received injury. Glancing towards the child the Knight raises a brow but remains quiet to his thoughts on the child's request. Returning his gaze towards the Banneret. "We must clear Naith till the word is received that all is clear on the distant border. It is not safe here and cover is minimal." he urges.
As he closes in on the wounded elleth, the greenclad edhel throws one side of his cloak over one shoulder, so as to get it out of the way. He begins reaching with one hand behind his back, inside where cloak still covers him, searching for something, while his eyes carefully monitor the soldiers nearby, watching their actions, and at Vinyarod's sugestion he nods slightly in agreement. (Cuardin)
Of like skill is Rosgwaen to that exile from his house, for no skill has he in herbs, and few would find so cold a mien a comfort. Yet halfway to the Banneret, his quiet footfalls find pause, for she is gone from where she stood, and speaks now to the cennan and child. And so too to the hiding-place of his younger kin does the Indor's silent path now turn, standing before them as if to shield them from whatever shafts may yet be launched. He looks not to them as he speaks, and his soft words come with the weight of urgency. "Come with me, Iaurfer. Sain-estel. I would not have you stay in this place, with all manner of yrch and Sickly cowering on the far banks..."
"I agree with the Knight Vinyarod, but if I might make one suggestion..." pipes up Erucolindo, now having reached the group and standing with his back to the river, still clutching the large bow in his right hand. "We might post sentries in the brush yonder. In order that we might secure the border, we should post some guards to keep watch on those areas not as easily covered by any elevated position."
There he quietens, his piece said, mouth closing tightly and his idea left to be done with what it will. Stony faced, he stands rigid, blonde tendrils overlapping his pale forehead and brushing his soft cheeks.
A nod from the Banneret to Vinyarod, her voice as low as his. "You know as well as I that I do not need anyone to tend it for me. When everyone is safe I will take a moment in the guard talan and make sure it will heal properly." She holds open her hand a bit, her head shaking slightly. "It is neither deep nor terrible. I will be fine." But as Rosgwaen speaks to his kin she pries her attention from her friend. She looks to the boy and smiles, her knees bending as she lowers herself to his level. "Aye, you want to know, and I will teach you, Rhibi, this I swear to you. You have shown courage and strength already, and a level-headedness I find intriguing in one of your age. You did well, Rhibi... yes, very well, and you have my admiration." Knowing well what effect her words will have on the boy, she follows them up with a qualifier. "But... your cousin and Vinyarod are correct. The Naith is not a safe place for you now, so I want you to go and wait until I send for you, okay?"
Caelwen finally lifts her head, and her hand reaches for her stave. She smiles tightly up at Mia as she uses the staff to help her stand again. She sighs, "I do not know how you do can do this often. Aye, my nerves are raw now." Her brow furrows as she peers at the Banneret's wound, but naught does she speak of it, but takes a step closer to her brother instead. "I am more than ready to go, for certes." She purses her lips and looks down at Rhibi. "Are you coming then?" She says this with no force, as though expecting Mia's words to carry more weight than her own.
Having apparently found what he was looking for, Cuardin's hand comes forth from its rumaging, holding a tightly wound strip of white cloth. Although most of his clothing is quite dusty, this cloth is still in pristine condition. Standing within conversational distance to the Knight-Banneret, he finally speaks up, his voice firm and decisive, yet bearing the edge that tells he knows he is outranked. "To leave or not, I leave to your decision.." His free hand gestures at soldiers before him. "But there is no point in you letting your life run out on the ground when I can fix it in a matter of seconds. Besides, you should know that it is easier to heal when another is watching over you." His gaze remains fixed, expecting a retort.
Rhibi's eyes glow at Mia's praise and with no word of protest, he makes an enormous leap across a fallen log; ending up grinning from ear to ear just behind the carpenter. Craning his head around to find his other cousin, he begins, "Are you still hiding there, Caelwen? Come on! Oh... there you are." He is barely able to restrain himself from dashing off then and there, but does wait impatiently for his cousins to move.
"As you wish Banneret, and you're right. I do know better your skills well." he says with a nod in response to Mia's words. Vinyarod turns his glance across the river and then to the trees above. "I have a place I need to be I think." as he catches sight of the slightest of moments above." Turning towards the Crafters and the child he pauses a moment as if he were to say something, but instead he takes a breath and hurries into the brush surrounding Naith. With that he is gone.
Mia waves a hand at Cuardin as she turns towards the talan of the guards, "Come or go as you wish, mellon, but I am not about to let my blood soak the ground. This is simple enough to fix and I should be able to do so on my own, but if you feel the need to watch over me and make sure I do not do it wrong then feel free." Before another word can be spoken, she is gone.
Sitting, or more accurately, dropping down against a tree, shaking his head. " They never learn, ever. Just like they did in the mine, just like in the mine." He then falls silent, pondering over memories. (Cuardin)
A solemn nod is given to Mia in appraisal of her words to the young Rhibi-- a nod, and the faintest of small smiles, both at the Banneret's speech and the actions of the Indor's child-cousin. Rosgwaen's golden-tressed head slowly turns now, that he may speak to both his kin at once. "Then let us be gone from this place." The sound of the Forbidden Tongue rising among the mist turns for a time Golfingund's eyes toward its source... but soon into the mist does he disappear, this strange lord clad in the silver and verdant of his house, and his sister and cousin trail him not far behind. Soon are they vanished, thavron, cennan, and child, into the morning shadows of mighty grey boles.
His words having good unheeded, Erucolindo retreats to a spot in the undergrowth surrounding the Naith, disappearing out of sight and into the trees.