“We should head out straightaway from the Valley, and not wait until next spring,” urged Culufinnel. "The geese are flying low. Foul weather is coming."
“No-o-o-o-o-o,” Parnard drawled, flapping a sleeve in his face, and stopping short in the act of raising a massive flagon to his lips. “Always so hasty! The night is young and there is still starlight. First I will drink to her honor again, and then I will drink to her sister Sargiel’s honor, and then I will drink to the honor of that father of hers, that confounded Captain what's-his-name.”
“Captain Brethenel,” said Culufinnel impatiently.
“That’s the one!” said Parnard, raising the flagon high and quaffing it down. Sudden doubt crossed his mind. “What if this captain fellow says, 'No'?”
“Of course he will not say 'No,'” Culufinnel replied eagerly, before his brother could grow maudlin again on the subject. “Stop saying such foolish things. This shall be brought about; he will not refuse you. You will see! Good fortune will be yours.”
This specious declaration being enough to qualm Parnard’s latest anxiety, he grabbed Culufinnel’s hand and squeezed it, murmuring confidently that he was right; there was always good fortune lurking just around the corner, no matter how dark the woods, or how long the starless nights or the Warg's teeth; and then demanded for another bottle to be opened, in celebration of his upcoming assured good fortune.
How much wine can one elf hold! thought Culufinnel as he poured out more. There were only two bottles left in the case he brought. Cursing to himself, he withdrew the small stoppered vial he had carried in his pocket for many days.
***
By the second day, Culufinnel was beginning to grow concerned. Now and then the golden-haired warden paused, and held his vambrace up to Parnard’s face to see if it still fogged with moisture. On the third day, Culufinnel dragged him off his horse and slapped and scrubbed his face with fistfuls of snow, without effect. The next day he dunked him in the icy waters of the Bruinen several times, with no change in his limp condition, so wringing his clothes free of water, he wrapped Parnard snugly in a fur cloak close by the fire, and waited for the sun to rise.
