Adunzil snaps small twigs and feeds the fire. I observe his graceful, spare movement through half-closed eyes as we change our watch and I prepare for sleep. The air is cool, though not too chill, the half-moon westering as night continues.
I shrug further into my cloak and hood. The night is peaceful, we are close enough to Nenuial for the eyes of our folk to keep the land quiet. I feel safe, as though held in the palm of my father, cradled by the solid earth and roofed by the trees.
It is good to have a companion to share the journey. I will miss him when we part - he to his watch, I to mine. But it is ever thus with those of us who have chosen this way. Solitude, brief meetings and shared tales, and then back to the road, or the wilds, or the watch. I am fortunate that my work brings me the company of the folk I tend - farmers, cotters, artisans. But, kind though they may be, and tellers of good earthy tales, they cannot give what Adunzil and I share now. The quiet knowledge that our history and purpose is known.
But ... there are more days ahead of us. We should be together at least until Bree. I doubt I will be able to convince him otherwise. There should be no need for him to come to the town... but any plan that Amloth has a hand in is unlikely to be cast aside once it begins. I wish I could dust my hands of it, like a farmer's wife shakes the flour from her hands. Let them carry out their foolhardy plan and be done with it.
I love my cousin ... so I cannot. I have given my counsel to him, and to Adunzil, about this matter, though they chose not to heed me. Adunzil to flush out the prey, Amloth to sit like bait in a trap. Too dangerous, in my eyes.
Fynchley is dangerous. Not as a sword is dangerous, but like a trapped rat in a corner. It is easy to assume that a poor man, and a coward, is no threat. But the truth that he has survived thus far in the foetid world he inhabits should be a warning. And if he himself is not the danger - then whatever moves him is. Fynchley and this copper-headed girl ... I worry that they are mearly sticks on the surface of the river. See the sticks move about, one might think they have a movement of their own. But see deeper, to the eddies and currents of the river itself, that is the true shaper of their actions. Amloth's words gave me no comfort - his thoughts on what may be at the depths of this river, shaping the actions of this lass from Rohan ... I fear for my cousin... that by setting himself as the bait in this trap he will be dragged under the water, and drowned.
