"Come then, show me what you can do."
"But is it not our aim that I should not show you what I can do, Master Faeron?"
"Boy, do not test my patience!"
"Only your eyes, then," Halfaeron retorted and he dashed off into the brush. The trees loomed over the dirt path well-trod by the Dúnedain for a millennium, but were increasingly bereft of their lovely orange and yellow leaves. That made it all the more difficult for the young Ranger, who sought to keep anything and everything between himself and his master, to obscure his own sight and sound and presence.
It was bad enough that the foliage was nearly gone, but worse still that dry, crunchy leaves trodden underfoot made such a racket to alert anyone with greater hearing than a Dwarf. Faeron had pushed the young Ranger hard in these final days, and this was the greatest test he had yet undertaken.
The secret to all of this, as Faeron had said again and again, was in perception. 'Who are you hiding from, and where are you in relation to he?' So, as long as Halfaeron could keep the master of stealth in his view, he could be reasonably sure about what paths to take to stay hidden.
Except that he had lost sight of Faeron. 'Was that my master's doing, or my own?' he thought to himself, and panic started to overtake him. He felt trapped. Any misstep would get him caught, and he'd fail.
He thought to just burst out of the brush and keep moving, but then the young man wondered to himself, "Am I to be a mere pheasant, flushed out by fear? Nay, no cowardly pheasant, nor frightened peasant, but merely present!" and he stopped and listened and waited for a moment. All was quiet, as quiet as a clear morning by the wellspring not far from his home. He couldn't go yet; any step into the crunchy leaves would be like shouting into a valley. But then a great gust of wind rustled the last few leaves out of their boughs and that was his chance! He dived out from his hiding spot and continued onward to the banner: the final destination where he'd pass Faeron's apprenticeship once and for all and be a master of stealth in his own right.
He was close. He could see the top of the tattered banner over a shrub-covered ridge. Halfaeron knew all he had to do was circle around and scamper up a little dell back to the banner. The young man sweated then, both from exertion and from anxiety. Was he really going to do this? It felt that his whole life led up to this moment. That he ran the risk of failure just by losing track of his master occurred but did not really occur to him, for he was too close to victory now.
He bolted for it then, throwing caution and leaves to the wind, and as he did, the all-too-familiar figure of his master stepped out from behind a tree trunk, slow and confident. Faeron's arms were crossed and a smirk on his lips, yet Halfaeron noticed too late and had already touched the banner.
"There you are," the master replied and approached.
Halfaeron doubled over, heaving heavy, exhausted breaths in disappointment. "It is failure, then?"
Faeron snorted. "Perhaps in some sense, yes, as you were seen."
The young man flopped over onto the ground, sending leaves a-flutter, and managed to say with a sputter, "So I am to do this again and again and again. I would sooner climb the Misty Mountains in naught but a nightgown!"
"Now, now," Faeron interrupted. "You have improved vastly each time. It was not long ago that I would have seen you for the entirety of the test. Now I lost track of you for most of it, and only by knowing the end did I find you."
"Isn't that cheating?" Halfaeron asked, grumbling.
"Only if one is caught in the act. Otherwise it is viewed as intelligence, is it not?"
The young man narrowed his eyes. "So what does this mean for me? That I am forever the unhappy apprentice to a trickster?"
"Nay," Faeron replied gently. "The unhappy peer to a trickster."
"Can it be so?"
He nodded.
Halfaeron bounced up from his resting place, elated beyond measure, and shook his former master's hand with both of his own. "By the seven stars, thank you! But... may I confess something?"
"You may, and you should."
The young man looked bashful, hesitant to continue, but mustered his courage and spoke up. "I did not know where you were about halfway through. I just... I masked my steps as best I could, but without knowing always who might have seen me."
"Then this is my final lesson: you will never know everything with absolute certainty. You can observe and guess and make your judgment, but in the end all you can do is your best, and do it with a measured patience and speed that completes your mission. It will not always go well, but..."
"'Any infiltration you walk away from is a good one.'" Halfaeron interjected with one of his former master's favorite sayings.
"Aye," Faeron affirmed. "Now go and tell your mother; she will surely be proud of you. And do not forget! Keep learning and improving!"
"Of course," Halfaeron joyfully replied, "And do not forget that you still owe my family a chicken for that dirty trick you played before!"
