Tancamir

                They rode through that night with little incident, passing like fleeting shadows through the northern fringes of the forest. Already Tancamir felt strength returning to his right shoulder. It would not be long before he could take up his bow again. The stars wheeled overhead in an endless parade, a familiar constant as the lands grew ever stranger. As dawn crept over the peaks of the Hithaeglir, they halted by a stand of trees overshadowing a little hollow.

Amloth's flanks heaved as they came to the crest of a hill. On the horizon, nestled in a hollow of elm trees, lay a dark shape which Tancamir's weary eyes knew to be the abandoned lodge. He gasped and fell forwards against his horse's neck as Amloth stumbled over a tree-root. Pain shot through his right arm and shoulder. He stroked Amloth's neck with his left hand, whispering hoarsely to him. They were almost there.

A dark shadow of fury sat perched in Luthelian's usual seat amongst the eaves above her sister's workbench. The sound of hammers beating against the anvil chimed the impending hour when the shadow would rise from its place as a raging inferno. Though her caramel hair lay straight and delicately around her face in the semblance of peace, the tight knit of her brows and the furious scratching of her quill betrayed her tempestuous mood.

Imladris, TA 30--

"Uilo! Why is your door locked?" Tancamir rapped irritably on his sister's door. There was no response except a faint scratching sound, as of quill against paper. He knocked again, this time more forcefully. When no answer came, he put his ear to the smooth oak wood. He could hear intermittent humming, and a few frustrated sighs, as well as the rustling of parchment.

Thud. Twang. Whizz. Thud.

Tancamir smiled grimly as arrow after arrow hit the centre of the wooden target. With each thud of an arrow biting into the target, his mind seemed to calm, centred by the steady rhythm.

Nock. Draw. Shoot.  His last arrow landed in the dead centre of the target, surrounded by a bristling ring of its companions.

"Sister?"

Branches rustled as Tancamir leapt down from his perch in a tree behind Uilossiel. She whirled around to face him with a startled cry.

"You! What in the name of Arda are you doing here? I thought this was my own spot, safe from prying eyes. " She snapped her journal shut, shoving it out of sight.

"I have tracked yrch, Angmarim, and all manner of beasts, so tracking one elleth was hardly a challenge," he shrugged. Face sobering, he took a step closer to her.

"Look, little sister, we need to talk."

The past few weeks had been long and exhausting. By some miracle, Belethoriel's party did not run out of supplies, and made it to Gath Forthnír alive, though spent and battered. Though Cúrandir had sustained no serious wounds, some of his comrades were not so lucky. Their healer, Laurelindo, had fussed over the injured, and became very irritated when some, like their quartermaster Ancalasse, refused to admit they needed treatment.