Amlarad

Every year of my youth I would help with the harvest. Though the work was hard, the break from our routine came like a holiday to my sister and me. Our hands and arms pungent with the scent of the plucked oranges, a mid day meal in the pools of cool shade that were cast by the dusty pines. Olives from our own estate, fresh bread, wine from our own vines. My grandfather's wealth tangible, edible.

On sprinted the Noldo-maiden toward the Camp of Ruidhriel. Her true intent known to none but herself, she smiled in the rising light. Dawn broke freshly over the threshold of the red-coloured stones of Sirannon, the rocky hills and tall gargantuan boulders towering over the small, slender, yet rather broad-shouldered figure who was sprinting at her own balanced pace towards the discoloured and worn tent of Ruinedhriel. She could see the smoke from the campfire wafting over the red sky of Hollin, and finally her feet came to a stop before Ruidhriel.

Minyelaire's hand reached into the grey fur of Radbug. What a good companion he was. His nose had led her right where she wanted to go. Her blood-red lips set a slight kiss on the beasts snout, whose tail swings from one side to the other. The Avar can make out Daerundros, to her surprise Nimlith... but where is the ranger?

In slow motion, Daerundros beheld the chaos-of-an-argument happening before her. Her eyes flicked towards her counterpart Minyelaírë as her left hand shot up to the small and readied hand crossbow on her side. With a swift movement, less than a second, she had fired it. Amlarad staggered as the bolt cleanly penetrated his thigh. He grimaced in severe pain and doubled over, helpless on the snow.

How did I, oathbound, come to this? His mouth searches out mine under the grass-green sky. The pink and green ribbons of light arc above our heads; silent, impassive beauty. The ice in the ink black water flushes pale mint and rose. It seems to me that a different dawn rises over a grassy land far across the bay.

Minyelaire kept her hood down in her face. She stood rather relaxed there before him, like a crimson figure, a wraith of dread, light reflects on her from the snow, ltting her glow in a terribly light. Daerundros, in her horror, looked down to see her fallen companion being cornered by the hooded face. Amlarad slowed his breathing and slid his gaze down his blade, aimed squarely from afar at her crimson chest. No! In haste Daerundros jumped down hurriedly and landed lightly on her feet, losing her balance.

She had gone to Cardolan to seek out an old friend who’s wise words might help her but instead she found a host of her friends gathered with many others for what reason she could not fathom.  Amlarad, Oldgrove, Adunzil, Noruien.   Had she missed some summons?

Finally the letter she had been waiting for and also dreading slightly had arrived, she quickly skimmed over it and noted the name at the bottom, worry now took her as she reread the details.

Addressed to Filrean Gwathir,

Your letter for Captain Tarmagiel has found its way upon myself, to which this cause has now become a matter most serious.  Your course of action is close to being of an insubordinate nature, though we are not of the military strength we once were you are to be held accountable for such.