Saranasse

Captain Sáranassë of the Order of the Arrow was many things, as she stood in Lady Manadhlaer’s office. She was tall, and fair in her austere way, and armored. She was a daughter of the Noldor, a creature of stealth and odd habits. She was a hardened warrior and a keeper of secrets. The one thing Sáranassë was not, by any means, was amused.

Greetings Lady Himwen,

There isn't much time so I'll get to the point as fast as I can. I am staying around Sarmëtecil for the time being, unless you have other orders for me.

After her night in the Hammer Hall, which at the very least did her no harm, Manadhlaer had been whisked around the Vale to a dizzying variety of safe-houses. This bright, bright morning, Manadhlaer had taken her breakfast in the Hall of the Order of the Fountain. Where Hammer Hall had smelled like a soldier's armpit directly after a battle, despite the most heroic efforts of Lieutenant Ancalassë, Fountain currently smelled like -- well, soap, and lots of it.

Arradril of the Order of the Arrow hooked a finger into the collar of her immaculate tabard, as though it were too tight. It had in fact been made to measure, to drape perfectly over the reinforced gambeson that Arrows wore in order to creep about the forest in silence. But Captain Sáranassë was, of late, insisting on visibility -- at least part of the time. So Arradril wore the indigo, inspired by Gondolin's House of the Swallow, and bore herself gravely when within the Vale. Most of the time.

Diary, I tell you truly, never have I wanted Lord Tindir's steadying hand more than I do now. I am no military commander, but a mere shipwright's daughter, steered by fate to these shores. Tindir is overly silent and reveals nothing of his plans until he springs them upon us, but he is not wrong. I have begged Himwen to send no message, for his plans must succeed. He must not fail in his current mission. Indeed, I deem no raven could reach him.

Well, Diary, I suppose now it is true what people say, that one does not really know a person until one has lived with them.

That is, "with" in a very elastic sense -- for Captain Sáranassë has given me her own clean but spare bunk in Arrow Hall, and has taken to sleeping out of doors in a tree instead. She assures me she actually prefers it so. Rámarillë is clearly baffled by this. She circles one tree or another -- whether it be the correct tree, or no -- and honks very loudly into the air.

This diary page is splotched with tea along one edge, but is perfectly legible.

Well, Diary? Can you believe it? I shall finally be having some company who is not coming to my door with an arrow in them, or bone sticking out of them, or spitting blood. That is, if he actually forgives me. I do hope the boy forgives me. Not everybody of my own kindred has had the sort of life I have led, and I need to be mindful of that.