The Raven's Departure

Sitting by the waning campfire she had set up in the shade of yet another long-forgotten Arnorian ruin in the hills of Eriador, Lômizimril finished reading the letter she had received as a Septarian of the Order. She considered it for a moment, committing the text to memory, then held it out to the flames and let it catch alight. As it burned, she raised her falconer's glove to release the raven that brought her the missive. 

"Go on," she murmured."Fly back to your master. I'm sure there are others he must write to." With a caw, the raven took wing and flew away into the night sky, disappearing into the darkness. 

Her gaze lifted to the stars above as she let fall the burning piece of parchment in her hand, turning away as it slowly floated down into the fire and was consumed. She caught sight of a shadow approaching from above, and held up her gloved hand again as a pale-feathered raven, some oddity of nature, swooped down and landed on her fist. 

"It's lovely to see you back," Lômizimril whispered, her stern gaze softening at the sight of the bird. "I hope Esteldín was kind to you," she added, knowing full well that the raven could not understand her, but speaking to it regardless. Noticing something odd, she peered a little closer and noticed something hanging out of the bird's beak. When Lômizimril plucked it out, she could see that it was a tuft of red-dyed fletching.

"That," she noted, "smells like leather and a half-feral horse. What brings the Easterling there, I wonder?" Dropping it into the campfire, she watched as the last remaining tongues of flame swallowed the bit of feather and faded into embers over the next few minutes. When there was nothing left of it all but ash and a thin trail of smoke, she pulled up her hood and strode over to her black horse, mounting quickly and taking the reins in one hand. The raven flapped into the air and alighted on her shoulder, with no protests on her part. 

"I suppose we shall have to find out."