The cold wind was as sharp as a knife to Ennerin’s skin. Even through thick leather armour and hooded cloak it seemed to seep through, making her shiver. The stars shone clearly above as Ennerin lead her horse through the Bree-fields at night, her bow in hand and reins in the other. Although uncomfortable in the winter chill, she felt at ease as she began her hunt for tailoring hide this night; she had done it a thousand times before as a traveller. Her steed gave a gentle whinny, disrupting the quiet air and, irritated, she soothed it, tying it to a nearby tree. Her luck of finding any suitable wolves was already going quite poorly; she could not afford for her horse to scare them away.
Ennerin sighed in discontent as she looked into the distance- it was hopeless, the mist was too thick for her to see anything. She patted her horse before continuing, walking for what seemed for leagues until she finally spotted a figure roaming around a few yards in front of her. Instinctively, Ennerin went into stealth-mode, drawing her bow and stepping forward as quietly as possible. Just as the wolf moved into perfect sight, she let loose her arrow. When she had lived in Ered Luin, she had trained herself never to inflict pain upon her hunt- she hated to watch things suffer, probably because of a certain memory in her past... Nevertheless, Ennerin smiled in victory as the wolf collapsed instantly, happy that she was still efficient in her bow skills after having not used them in so long.
However, on the ride back home, Ennerin felt herself enclosed in memories. She missed her life as a traveller- the excitement of discovering new places and people, never staying in one place for long before moving on. The only place that she had stayed in longer than she had in Bree was Gondamon. Ennerin could see it now: it’s towering walls and gentle people- it was the only place she had ever truly felt at home. She was beginning to miss her days as a scout, and she almost felt jealous of the warriors of the house that she served preparing for their battles. But Ennerin knew that she was not near proficient enough to go into battle with them, even if she did just merely scout. She could remember that one particularly snowy day, when she was sent to scout a new Dourhand encampment. The weather had been as cold that day as the air she was riding through now, but at least now there was no snow. Ennerin then began to remember that being the same day she had met that man, the man. The ultimate cause for her ruin. The memories that flickered back made her uneasy, and she kicked her horse into a canter.
Her home, or current home, should she call it, loomed ahead of her in the mist. As she stood at the door, wolf-corpse swung over her shoulder, she hesitated before opening it. The same questions spun around her mind. What brought me here? Why have I gone from an adventurous life to a monotonous one?
