northern men, southern men

And so, here i sit, at this dusty campfire, just off the road. Randir says we are safe here, surrounded by these.. what are they, beast or folk? Like unto the tree-herders, but without any trees it seems. They speak an ancient slow tongue, it rustles in my head like the leaves of an old book. The Men shift in and out of the light over there, facing back towards the Last Bridge. From behind, in this light they look almost identical, tall, dark, upright. Motionless in themselves as the look out into the dark, it is only the firelight that gives them animation. I wonder what Men see, when they look into darkness? The possibilities within their souls, their final future... though Araenion's sight is keen I have heard that lesser men see poorly in darkness. How strange that must be, to fumble about under the starlight. I try not to listen to them, though it is hard. The earth-folk say little, and other than the snap of burning wood all I can hear is their infrequent conversation. Araenion, as familar to my ears as the touch of the sun is on my skin. And Randir, his northern tones... hold the glint of another... and I recall so many nights by a fire under the stars. Were I to close my eyes I would believe that these two Men and I have travelled forever together.