He had been on the road for a few days. The journey from the last bridge to Tornhad was quiet and eventless, but at last he was glad to see his home again.
After a night of rest, Annuthoron is sitting by the campfire, withdrawn and only listening to the other Rangers talking about their latest travels or watches.
"I tell you," one Ranger said, chewing on a loaf of bread, and raising his arm in the air as he described what happened. "It was Ten feet tall, and Gilhir here fell on his arse when it came from behind the rock." He chuckles, and Gilhir chuckles as well and throws his bread at him. Picking up the bread, a woman approaches and hands it back to Gilhir, who bows his head to her.
Everyone quiets down and greets her similarly, but Gilraen smiles and bows her head as well. "Annuthoron," she calls to him, placing a hand on Arandil's shoulder. "I've heard you returned. How was your journey?"
Annuthoron, having also bowed his head in greeting, now looks to Gilraen and lets a soft smile touch the corner of his lips. "Well enough thank you my lady, and gratefully quiet and uneventful", comes his reply as he straightens himself slightly, adjusting his sitting position, "And yourself? How have you fared?"
"I have been well," she replied, then sat by the fire. It flickered, and her grey eyes glinted. "I fear I must cut your rest short. We were to hear word from Imrahil six days past, but no word came. He had been watching the road from the High pass, but his relief found no sign of him. We know not what happened, nor when he left his watch, if left indeed he was and not forced from it. Will you search for him, Annuothorn?"
"Imrahil? The High Pass?". Annuthoron hrms as he folds his arms across his chest. It seems as though the question of whether or not he will go on the search is moot. "I can leave at first light and make for Imladris, my lady. Did his relief find any signs of what might have happened?"
"Not Imladris," she said quietly. "But on the road from it. Thirty miles west of the Valley. That is where he was to watch. There was no sign of his passing, for Imrahil can move about unseen when he choses. Yet, a broken cart was seen four miles north-east of his post. Signs of a troll attack."
"My apologies, I thought you had meant the High Pass through the Mountains.", he dips his head, "Then I shall start for his post, and then investigate these signs of the attack." Annuthoron sucks on his teeth, "Trolls..."
"Thank you," she said as she stood up and bowed her head one more time. "I hope your path is safe and swift." Then, she leaves.
Annuthoron bows his head in return, "My lady", and watches her for a moment as she leaves before he takes a deep breath and rises from his rest, brushing and dusting himself off as he looks around at his fellow kinsman, then to Gilhir, "Any advice besides not falling on my arse?", he jibes with a chuckle to try and lighten the mood once again amongst them all.
Gilhir looks at the other rangers before they all laugh and chuckle. "If you see a rock move, it's more likely to be a troll than a landslide." He says and chews on his bread.
Annuthoron nods with a soft smile, "I'll be sure to remember that friend". He takes a glance at the skies in an attempt to figure out how much time he has before first light, and how much time he has to prepare for his journey.
It's still early in the evening. Not past dinner time, yet, in decent places.
Annuthoron takes a moment to ponder, if he were to take but a few moments to gather his things - how far would he make it before nightfall. For as safe it would be to wait until first light, so too important is the speed of his task that he has accepted.
He perishes the thought just as quickly as it came, it'll be almost a week's journey at a rough estimate, and so he feels and decides it would be best he prepares and rests as much as he can to then leave at first light.
The night passes peacefully. Here in the heart of the Angle at Tornhad, the Dûnedain may sleep at ease, knowing their kinsmen are on watch. It was the distant call of a rooster that woke you up, when the sky was still dark, but a pale light lingered in the east. The first signs of dawn from beyond the mountains. Some other Rangers were already getting ready to set out on their own watches or errands. But Gilhir looked at you and smiled. "Remember," he said calmly as he put the saddle on his horse. "Cut as much distance as you can by daylight, and disappear at Dark." He turned and led his horse away.
"I will thank you", comes the reply from Annuthoron with a nod of his head, "and safe travels." As he gets his own gear ready and sets off on his own journey. As he makes his way out of the settlement, he takes in the sights, smells and sounds of Tornhad, committing it all to memory as he is wont to do each time he leaves, for he knows not how long it may be until next he returns.
The village's image is planted in Annuthoron's memory. The dying fires at dawn. The women embrace their men for long moments before they leave. The young boys and girls training with their bows and swords and spears with greying Dunedain. The smell of cooked meals and of pipe weed in the air. All of it fades behind as the forest encloses him. Lines upon lines of trees, expanding forward as the first rays of sunlight filter through the canopies, silhouetting the misty mountains as they loom to the East.
