Company of the East Road

It was insane. Chaotic.
The very air around was acrid.
Though with all the chaos, death and destruction around, somehow, Daphne was still fine. Everyone was still alive and so far, she'd managed to keep Furley from injury. Or, at least...he wasn't injured yet. It may not have had anything to do with her.

There were fell voices on the air. Whispers that I could make no sense of. The wind was cold and biting against my skin. It howled and moaned in my ears, but still, the whispers were tangible. My feet cannot move through the snow. Is it snow? Is it something else? I cannot move.

I stare down at the ring on my finger. Unlike the traditions of Men, we bear our rings on our right index finger. This is the one time I am grateful that I bear arms with my left hand; there is less of a chance of me losing the ring whilst swinging a sword. (Though it is not as if I plan to bear arms again anytime soon). 

“Kill him like you did the other elf, and send the ribbon to his bitch.”

I stole these clothes from Angmarim men along the pass of the Jä-rannit. I decided to go south to Aughaire than north to follow them to Carn Dûm.

 The letter is sealed tightly in an envelope that has been slightly bent and worn from travel. On the back is scrawled in perfect Westron; 

To Furley; 8 Long Street, Wyrmlin, Bree-land.

We were not given much time to think on what was occurring betweein Sir Furley, Lady Daphnee and the other man.

Our venture into Waymeet has finally ended. It has been nice to have been in the Shire. It is a much needed haven from the rest of this world. The company all gathered in the center of the small town. A few of our company went off to scout other roads, while most of us filed into formation to begin our journey back to Bree. 

With Ithilwe's head against my shoulder, the rest of the evening is spent silently pondering what is to come next.