A massive menacing looking elf with a badly scarred face and only one remaining eye burning of anger was sharpening with obstination a huge longsword by one of the fires. While his look alone was enough to commend one to keep distance in such a moment a tall and slender elf in a long dark colored robe approached him and gently touched his shoulder to announce her presence before sitting on other log turned into a basic bench on the other side of the fire while the other only briefly looked up and gave a small nod of greeting before returning to his grim mood endeavor.
They stayed like that for a while before the one eye elf broke the silence, still apparently concentrating on the sword edges perfection: “They will give up the search”.
"I believe the same thing myself” came the response, they were thinking the same. The elleth rose her eyes from the fire for a moment but, seeing that the other did not, she looked back into the flames and continued. “It’s days already. There is not anything more that makes sense trying, no clue, no lead.” She paused waiting for the other to continue the talk, but he did not. Was it any need to, in the end? There was not like them to abandon hope or efforts for their kindred, and it bothered them like an old wound that still itches and pains one after a long time.
Those who would pass by the half opened entrance of Veryacano’s tent would see the Hammer Lord slamming his fist angrily against the map table. Some would guess -or, at least, presume- that he’s finally admitting to himself that Turuviel was lost. Kin or not, a commander cannot keep spending resources and time for one man. As much as they all treasured and relied on the fact that no resources would be spared to attempt to save them if they would be missing, such effort they only afforded but equally, and proportionally. While in command, his duty was to them all and it was not like the old commander to forget duty. His kin or not, she was only one of many to be lost, in one way or another, to this endless but vital fight for holding the borders of the free people. She knew what she was getting herself into and she welcomed the risks, they all did. Hard to read as ever, the commander’s eyes spoke only of steeled will and silenced pain. And they all knew such pain is not one to go away soon or easy.
Some distance from Glan Vraig, a tall elf of clear noldorin heritage was supervising absently how his commando was assembling and getting ready by the northeastern edge of Tal Ascaren island. He was ready, equipped and attention stirred to his surroundings more than to the comrades he knew and trusted. A cold wind was pushing some strands of his golden hair into his eyes, repeatedly, even though his hair was neatly tied to the back of his head as always. He reached to tie the rebel strands in the knot with the others and reached the javelin pack on his back. One of them was longer than the rest and he did not get used to it yet, after adopting it as a replacement for the silvery one that he lost to the purple spider. He looked at the minor cut on his hand from its sharp tip and found reason to be annoyed at something else than the main concern of them all, and for a moment it felt better. They won’t find any traces, he was sure of that. But there was still high hope to find someone, more or less willing to talk, more or less knowledgeable. Days passed for the enemy too, and news on anything of note sure spread. A tall man wearing a long hooded cloak came to stand by him, after briefly checking if all their group assembled or they still had a short wait ahead. They made a team so often that they got used to guessing the other’s plan by one look. The man was not mistaken on the thoughts of the elf this time either. He stated simply “There is almost no hope”, but everything else in his demeanor and prepared gear showed that, hopeless or not, he was there to do his best. The golden haired elf frowned. “We’ll see about that!”
