Dunadan

On sprinted the Noldo-maiden toward the Camp of Ruidhriel. Her true intent known to none but herself, she smiled in the rising light. Dawn broke freshly over the threshold of the red-coloured stones of Sirannon, the rocky hills and tall gargantuan boulders towering over the small, slender, yet rather broad-shouldered figure who was sprinting at her own balanced pace towards the discoloured and worn tent of Ruinedhriel. She could see the smoke from the campfire wafting over the red sky of Hollin, and finally her feet came to a stop before Ruidhriel.

Anger. Anger and Fury. The Woman looked at the lake once more and cursed to herself in Sindarin. Her worthless band had failed to show up consecutively now, and their absence drove her mad with fury and longing for companionship. Her friendship with Furlaf had faded, and even her relationship with Boen was going downhill. Only Cyneburga was her only friend.