Iorniel

Iorniel had never travelled anywhere much further past her own lands, and the prospects that ere came to her upon the crossing of the Baranduin were of an unknown nature. Before she had wandered here and there down the passes and crossings, though never had she set foot to cross, except with the vision of her eyes, ever gazing over the watery depths and ever learning, though never had she chased across the frothy currents. Never had she, except for now.

In the night she had approached the camp, soft footfalls against the grass drowned out by the incessant chirping of the crickets. There, amongst the trees, lay a disturbance caused by the intrusion of evil upon their resting places. Long ago had the birds halted their songs, and the rays of the Silver Flower glittered against the dew laid by the clouds, a beauty to behold were it not for the dark stain of the Orcish presence nearby. Their axes had bitten the trees deep and the fires snapped fiercely, their warm glows heating the surrounding enemies.