Andswaru

“What a mess…” Andwaru softly said to himself, while riding on his white steed Ladhfota. He had his belly full of mead and small snacks. His head full of the words of Vaarion’s mother, but that is nothing what he holds in his heart. The rider smiled thinking of that moment in the stables… the words that were spoken there….heard by Apple and Pear. Happily he sighed and looked to the sky.

Finally our trials seem to be at an end!
We arrived, this evening just at nightfall as prodigy would have it, at the end of the forest, and on the horizon we saw banners - not the rough, crude banners of a Dunlending tribe but the green flags of the Mark!
I am writing this inside a tent in a camp of the Riders of Rohan, set here on the edge of the Isendale as if they had been waiting for us. We were welcomed and offered food and shelter by the captain.

The thievess did not return, nor any of her friends, if she has them.
But now we are as thieves in the night, riding past sleeping villages and watch-towers by moonlight, hiding like fox-cubs during the day.

The way south is troublesome. The road we have been roughly following (even if we cannot walk it, it served as a guide to us while we rode hidden) lead into a pass through a rocky vale. We have no choice but to either brave the road or find a way around the range. It seems to be sprouting out westwards from the mountains, but if the map is to be trusted, it should not be too wide. I do not wish to risk the road. It is most certainly watched, and a good place for an ambush, too.
But it means a detour, and we are already delayed.