Cirvalad stood atop the small rocky outcrop that overlooked the small pool and soft waterfall by which the small band had made its camp in the shade of Amon Sul. He was as still as the old watchtower and his sharp eyes studied carefully for a league all around the hills and road. His ears listened to the rustle of badgers and foxes about their nightly business, and they would prove good warning of all but another elf’s approach.
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