The dark was quickly approaching as Dinengel rode swiftly through the forested hillside. He had been riding for nearly four hours since his encounter with the Trev Duvardain tribesmen, and was now beginning to falter from his fatigue. He had managed to dress his wounded shoulder in an effective but crude fashion, though he was not sure how long it would last. Surely there would be a search party sent after him, and he had lost his sword in the scuffle at their camp.
Dinengel still had leagues to travel, and he was not sure how far behind his pursuers might be. By dark he finally decided that he had to stop, at least for a time. Should his pursuers catch up to him, he would need the strength necessary to fend them off. He dismounted the horse, which he tied to a tree nearby. He then sat down at the trees roots, took out a small wafer of waybread, and adjusted his mask in order to take a few small bites.
After he had eaten, Dinengel tended to his wound, which he bound tightly by a small piece of cloth torn from his cloak. The crude bandage would have to suffice for now, at least until he could reach Esteldín for better treatment.
He sat for nearly half an hour after that, merely resting and planning his next move. The moon was high above his head when he finally arose. He untied the horse, and sent it galloping due east, hoping that it’s trail might throw off his pursuers. The Ranger then took to the trees, and silently disappeared into the dark night.
