Ruadan stood among a company of elves and a few men, his garb of natural colours gave him away as one of the pathfinders who kept watch beyond the Gates of Imladris. As he moved around the encampment he gave greeting in Sindarin to the elven maethor who were returning from their watch to be fed and watered before heading to other duties.
He listened to the conversations being spoken, for he often found himself learning much without never having to speak himself. Truth be told he often found himself wondering why the vale needed such as himself. For the elves had skills and senses far beyond his own kind. But each time he would be told that those of his ilk could walk where elves could not or would prefer not to be seen. So he settled back into doing what he could to help.
Ruadan was fortunate since coming north from Ithilien that he had been led to Imladris and the fey who dwelled there. They had freely taught him much and in a way which made the learning so much easier. By walking and riding alongside the Dunadain of the North he had learned an aspect of history he had not been taught before.
He stopped by a campfire and filled his clay mug with a warm honeydew drink the maethor always had ready to go. He stood close by and listened to the conversation of two young maethor who had just no doubt returned from the area of the Bruinen from their exchange of words. One who the other referred to as Hennethon spoke of seeing a lithe figure moving northward through the deepest part of the trees towards the ruins of Thingroth. This elleth said he followed this figure farther into the woodlands and continued so for many hours. The figure had long deep red hair and was armed with a longsword and they believed decked in mail. The description was vague which to Ruadan seemed testament to the distance between Hennethon and the figure he was tracking which must have been considerable knowing how well elleth see. Hennethon it seems lost track of the individual as the sun began to set. As the tale concluded Hennethon’s companion hinted that perhaps he was just making up the story to account to the Gate warder as to why he was late from his patrol. With a laugh and a pack on each other’s backs the pair left the campfire and headed towards the Homely House.
Ruadan stood there thinking to himself, recalling a previous conversation he had with a merchandiser on the eastern road who also mentioned a figure with distinct flaming red hair. Could this be the same person and what were they doing meddling in the ruins deep in the woodlands.
