The icy wind came to meet her in great force as soon as she opened the heavy iron door to the outside. The storm still raged on, winds howling across the mountainsides, sweeping the snow across the landscape. Yet it was better than the confines of the inner keep, packed to the brim with warm bodies and stale air. Besides, it was nearly stifling to be in such close proximity with Tancamir any longer. All of her senses were heightened and attuned to his movements...talking with other Arrows at the table, standing by the fire...it was infuriating. Lord Dolthafaer and Lord Tindir had given orders for everyone to remain in the keep, but surely they did not mean that they could not step outside briefly for air. After all, she had seen the healer ladies leave and return from time to time with snow in their pots and kettles.
The wind whipped at her face with tiny ice needles and she pulled her hood closer around her and then the fur mantle around her shoulders. As her fingers brushed the soft fur, her cheeks coloured at the memory of Tancamir dropping them in the snow beside her. He had not looked at her, but she knew he meant for her to wear it as he passed. Despite the harsh nature of the storm, Luthelian breathed in the fresh air, letting it fill her lungs and clear her head. There was too much of one ellon in there - the concentration in his eyes as he readied his bow, the torchlight casting dancing shadows across his face, even the longing with which he had looked at his compass, and the finality of his words, "She died. That is all."
Like an extinguished candle, the warmth in her body blew out as if the cold outside invaded her chest...slowly spreading throughout her entire body. She paced, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to retain her body heat. What did it all matter to her? She simply felt bad for the elf. He had lost someone he cared for - an experience she had fortunately never had to go through.
Luthelian continued to pace as she shook her head, her long chestnut hair picking up snowflakes as it swirled around her. There were other more pressing concerns. Where were the Mirkwood elves they searched for? Where were the scouts that were supposed to guard the first camp? Did the goblins take them? She paced, her footsteps quickening. The goblin camp that Tancamir and she had come upon on their scouting trip was unnerving. It stood directly east of their first camp and on higher ground. It had the advantage. Had the goblins there drawn out their scouts and ambushed them? Pace. How would they find them? Pace. Pace. What if they were buried deep beneath the snow?
Luthelian looked down at her feet then, surprised to see the white material under her boots. When had the rock of the dwarven keep been replaced by snow? She turned on her heel and blinked at the white haze in front of her. Had she not just come from that direction? Where were the looming stone walls of the keep? She walked forward, shielding her eyes with her hand, squinting into the storm. There were no tracks to mark her passing...this had always been her source of pride as a scout, but now it had led her into the wilderness with no signs to return by. Setting her lips in a firm line that betrayed her frustration, she continued pushing through the howling wind and snow in the direction she had thought she had come from.
She was only forced to stop when a large gust knocked her back. A sudden crack resounded in the air above her and the young scout looked up just in time to see the white heavens falling upon her before all went black.
