Dolthafaer

Dolthafaer stared down at the valley, the snow reflecting the sun’s dying light.  A lone howl drifted up to the crumbling stone ruin where the Arrow had stopped to rest.  He grimaced, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword, and turned to face the rest of his company.

“We have rested enough.  Time to move on.”

Dolthafaer regarded his company with a critical eye, taking in their thick cloaks and heavy boots and somber colors, and nodded his proud approval.  He passed each of them a small flask of firewhiskey, warning them to use it sparingly in the bitter cold.  He reminded them of their mission, informed them of the dangers they might face, and a moment before he would have started them down the path, Veryacano approached them.  The Hammer lord briefly inspected the gathering before leaving them with a final order:

The blizzard abated three days later.

Limiriel draped the heavy white fur around her shoulders, clasping the silver mallyrn leaf at her shoulder. Blue smoke drifted up from the dying fire as she knelt down to put a small blue pouch filled with gold coins next to the sleeping dwarf.

Dolthafaer frowned down at the map spread across his desk, brow furrowed, restlessly drumming his fingers against the smooth wooden surface.  His gaze swept over the inked region of the Hithaeglir, returning again and again to the red splotch marked on the top right corner.

That is where Estarfin went, Parnard had claimed.  To the Goblin Caves.

Valanya, the 6^th day of Hrivë

Menelya, the 53^rd day of Quellë

Dolthafaer twirled an arrow in his hands, keen grey eyes flickering in the light of the fire as he examined the fletching – one white feather, two speckled brown.  Satisfied with the spacing, he took up a length of thin sinew and began to bind the feathers to the shaft.  A quiverful of arrows was already stacked neatly on the floor beside him, but his mind was full tonight and the familiar task helped him think. 

"So, is that  for yourself, or should I be worried that soon all of the Arrow will be wearing purple as well?"

"No to your first question, and yes to the second, though that might be difficult to believe. It seems the colours of the Arrow match my tastes. They will be wanting a uniform, I think, and - well, who else is to design it?'

Uilossiel cast an appraising look at the bolt of purple cloth laid out on the merchant's table."At any rate, I should say good afternoon. Tinwen sent me here for some thread and things for her sewing."

Menelya, the 41st day of Yávië