"Had the scholars at Thargelion been tardy, they would have soon found themselves in one of the northern forts," Danel whispered to him.
Parnard nodded, unable to reply, because the small group of elves was staring at him. The coolness of the morning air was faded; there was no time to spare.
“My friends,” he addressed them, “ Some of you may have heard of the state of our larder – I do not like to say it, but we are woefully short in many necessary foodstuffs. This last feast of the Hammers was a severe blow to the cold meats.”
“Fear not, we will not starve,” interjected Danel.
Not if I can help it! thought Parnard. Therefore, he told them of his plan. They would need victuals for table, and what help they could give would be up to each of them. After this short speech, what answer could they make to his request but a cheerful assent?
So he led them out of the Valley and over the hills in the glorious summer sunshine, all his thought set on securing a covey of wild game. And there, just past the end of the chalky meandering path, a fat boar sow sunned herself.
Parnard glanced back at the others. They looked doubtful - not frightened, but doubtful. He wondered whether he had reached the limit of his influence, should he entreat them to attack the wild boar. Aurineth wrinkled her nose, while Elvealin very coolly looked on, as if she were gazing at a picture of a boar in a book. Even his little hound Ronyo huddled closer.
Norliriel spoke first. She was wearing a plain tunic and breeches and seemed ready for anything. “I shall not take part in the hunt. You know why. But I will gladly help you dress it, once you have taken it down,” she quickly added, seeing the disappointment on Parnard’s face.
What else is to be expected from a house of scholars! Should he lead them back to the Valley empty-handed? The thought rankled in his heart. Good would come out of this tramping out on a sunny day, he would see to it himself!
“But I have this!” said Parnard, brandishing a trimmed branch split on one end and lashed about with willow bark. The others seemed unimpressed. “It is not for skewering boar, but for fishing,” he explained. Surely they knew what a fishing spear was for?
“I remember some places near the Ford where mushrooms grow,” Norliriel said.
“Forth we ride, to the river!” he cried, newly encouraged, and blowing his horn, started off toward the laurel thicket along the riverbank.
The air was thick and hazy. Dragonflies sunned themselves on the river rocks. Dreaming, thought Parnard from his vantage place on a high rock that overlooked the swift Loudwater. Now and again he heard the soft voices of Danel and Norliriel as they picked berries and mushrooms. Nearby him lay Ronyo, blinking in the sunlight, his pink tongue lolling out as he watched his master. Parnard made a careful adjustment to his fishing line and cast it far out into the cold water. This was far better than skewering boars or grubbing for roots! A river, a fishing line, and a full wineskin: he would return home when the wine was all but finished.
The fishing pole creaked ominously and bent in a sharp curve. At once, Parnard laid firm hold on the line, digging his heels in as he was dragged forward by the thrashing fish, alternatively paying out and winding up fishing line around his thumb, until the thrashing lessened. This was the time, before the fish regained its strength! With the assistance of Elvealin, he was able to pull it from the water, and grabbing his willow branch, smacked it hard above the eyes to stun it. Then he set to severing out the gills of the huge trout with his long knife.
“Good catch, Lord Parnard!” shouted Norliriel.
A short while later, another 23-pounder was on the riverbank. Parnard wiped his knife clean, elated. The Loudwater was not as broad as the Anduin, but there was mighty good fishing here! Fed by snow melt, it was a perfect lair for trout. He hopped lightly over the rocks back to his fishing spot and cast his line out again.
Someone was whimpering.
“Calm, Aurineth! You will scratch your hands that way!”
Parnard peered over the rock. Below him, in the bramble patches beside the riverbank, Norliriel fiddled with Aurineth’s hair.
“Whatever is the matter!” he said, irritated at the noise.
“My head is stuck, Lord Ambassador!” cried Aurineth.
“Just hold still,” Norliriel advised. Aurineth did not seem to hear her, however, and panicking thrashed around, much like a fish on the end of Parnard’s line. So tangled it became that Norliriel could not pull the brambles through the locks of hair, and finally resorted to using her cutting shears to free her from the brambles. There were many small twigs caught in Aurineth’s hair, and some of it stuck out in wispy tufts where it was shorn close to her scalp. Water dripped from her clothing, and river mud was smeared on her face. Parnard burst out laughing. Quickly he passed the wineskin to Aurineth when her eyes reddened and began to water. He made a guilty cough and suggested that she drink some wine to stave off the chill.
“What is a little hair, Aurineth?” he said, not very convincingly, because it was more than a little haircut, and Parnard was not very good at telling lies, even well-intentioned lies, having not practiced it. He crunched a piece of the watery root that Elvealin gave him to sample as he watched Norliriel fuss over Aurineth, dabbing at a hundred tiny scratches on her face and arms with a cleansing salve.
The elves collected several basketfuls of mushrooms, blackberries, and water-roots, even some green slimy weeds that Aurineth found growing in a pool of stagnant water. These looked repugnant to Parnard, but Norliriel thought Manadhlaer’s bird would like to eat them.
No rare roast beef for dinner, thought Parnard, shaking water from his shoes, but trout with caper sauce was almost as good, and not as greasy.
