Hooves sank deep into snow. Glasdal snorted, struggling to loose herself from the snowdrift she had become mired in.
Barangolf slid from the saddle and landed with a puff of white. He stroked the horse’s sable nose and murmured reassurances. “We will find shelter soon,” He whispered, though he was not so certain of this himself. He had traveled through these mountains years ago, when his daughter had moved to the coasts of the Falathlorn, and he recalled then that there had been Dwarven outposts. But whether they remained was to be seen.
Beside him Daelinn led her own horse, coaxing the beast with gentle admonitions. She squinted into the snow at her grandfather’s words. “Then we are headed toward the proper direction?”
Barangolf pulled his scarf further over his mouth and nodded. When they had first become separated from their party he had been unable to tell what direction they were headed; the sky had been obscured by howling, swirling white. But as they had come further away from the storm the stars had once again begun to twinkle above them during the night.
He was sure that this was the right direction.
“There was a camp here last I ---” He began, but his words were cut off by an object whirring past him.
[i]Whump![/i]
A cloud of snow burst into the air as the object hit the snow in front of them. Glasdal reared back in alarm, whinnying loudly. Barangolf grabbed for her reigns. “Whoa!” He shouted.
“Oof!” Daelinn was knocked off her feet as a white figure lunged at her.
Barangolf’s heart leaped into his throat as he recalled the moment before separation but then --
No, only a snowbeast.
He grabbed a stone from the pouch hanging by his side and flung with all his might. The beast roared, whirled around. The wood-elf licked parched lips anxiously but kept his eyes on those of the snowbeast.
“Away from her, foul beast!” He yelled. The beast galloped for him, it leaped -- and landed [i]over[/i] his head, yowling towards Glasdal. The horse tried to bolt, but the snow was too deep. The snowbeast grabbed the bedroll tied to her back and tugged, pulling her back toward it.
From the ground where she lay Daelinn began to sing. Her voice lacked the power of the Legendary singers -- of Luthien or Finrod Felagund -- but she had learned all the song craft known to the Wood-elves.
The bedroll snapped off the saddle. The beast gazed at it in befuddlement, then grunted and lolled away.
Barangolf offered his granddaughter a hand. “Bit rough singing in this cold, isn’t it?” He asked.
She laughed. “Are you not going after it? Would make a nice replacement bed…”
The older of the two shook his head. “I would prefer not to detour. We still have a camp to find.”
Daelinn patted her grandfather on the arm. “Then lead on!”
