Parnard

((This tale comes after  Numenstaya but before A Troubled Homecoming.  ))

We turned into the grounds of Númenstáya to a call from above, a hail from Filignil at her lookout point. “Oh, welcome, welcome back!” she cried, then lowering her bow, turned to run along the ridge to meet us. The sky was at that beautiful point just before dawn, when the eastern edges of our view, over the houses and further hills, were outlined with a pale rose-gold glow.

I awoke to find Estarfin absent, although his cloak was placed over me. Parnard, however, was sitting on a nearby rock, resting his chin on his hand and looking rather thoughtful. 

“We will travel soon, I believe. At least this time I do not wear iron chains,” he said upon hearing my movement.

We rode on. I had expected the further north we travelled the colder it would become. To some extent that was true, but it snowed less and the sky was more of a watery pale blue-grey. Even such little light was welcome. As we drew nearer to Bree we were passed on the road by two travelling groups. One consisted of cozily garbed Dwarves, who made a brief but polite acknowledgment to us, as we did to them. 

We travelled slowly uphill, past the Stonecrop Encampment where we had arranged to meet up with Captain Culufinnel and along the road towards Herne. He was waiting by the crossroads there, and looked as if he may have been for some time. The Captain let out a single deep sigh of relief as he saw us, the warmth from which misted the air before him, showing pale against the leaden sky.

“To the sward, and to warmth and life.”

I had a vision of both Parnard and Estarfin racing for blankets, making a fire and sitting as close to it as they could without catching alight. The bitter cold was now pushing them beyond reasoned actions. But it was a foolish thought. None of us would be running anywhere. 

Estarfin kicked some loose soil into the dying embers of the fire to smother it. Time to move on.