Greetings Friend,

Strange events have passed during the hours before sunrise. As we sit here now Arien is only just peeking over the horizon on her golden chariot. But I am not here to talk of such things. There was indeed something stalking through the night. Someone. Kleo and I slipped away unnoticed, although I do not know if that had something to do with the soft song Our Lady had been singing; I still unsure if she had truly winked at me as I left.

Still, it was a relief to be away from the heavy presence of Undew and the Captain. Both had grown sullen over the past few weeks and complained bitterly about anything and everything. To not hear the murmured arguments was a blessing in itself. I had not realized how selfish our Captain was and how domineering Undew could me. If I had the right to say such things I would tell how much it sickens me, but that is opinionated and not factual.

Walking through the darkened plain it took me a great deal of time to adjust my eyes to the change in light. Even though the fire had given little light and warmth I missed its cheeriness already, the comforting homey feeling. Kleo however was taking it all in her stride, quite literally. The girl is capable of moving at an alarming rate when she chooses… and at that point in time she was in an exceptional hurry. Hurry to death? I feel that is what she moved so quickly towards even if its embrace hasn't wrapped around her; yet.

But the fact she was so certain that what she was to meet this night would bring about death startled me. Still in fact. Considering what we did meet was as unassuming as myself.

After a long time of walking, Kleo had dragged me behind a rocky outcrop so that I was wedged safely behind her and only her front was exposed. Before her she held out her blade, even in this still darkness it glinted softly. In what was surely a few moments, but felt like eternity, another blade appeared. This one rested lightly against Kleo's neck.

A voice shattered the silence, rustic and yet with the velvety tone of a woman.

"You seek the Old One do you not?"

Before Kleo could speak I'm ashamed to say I blurted it out, I was excited to hear of someone who might know of what we seek.

"Yes, do you know where we might find him?"

"He is here, with me now. And yet you may not speak with him… Mandos forbids it."

Until now I have only just realized she sounded saddened, and yet as Our Lady speaks with her she will bare neither little of her tale nor why she will not speak of him anymore.

However; back in the rocky outcrop, before we had returned with the maiden, Kleo was far from impressed. If the way she looked at the woman could have pierced the night I am certain she could have killed her. Despite people's firm belief that looks cannot in fact kill.

"Indeed? Then is Mandos in league with the Dúfaroth? For surely such a creature causes devastation. Are his halls so empty that he must call upon shadows to deliver souls to him?"

The anger in her voice was barely hidden, and both she and I know that it was intended that way. Kleo did not want her disgust to be buried beneath 'protocol' as the Captain called it. Were she upset at something she was always first to speak her mind.

"No dear one, Mandos is grieved as much as you are yet he will not allow the Old One to speak with you."

Where the sentiment come from I do not know, for Kleo denies having ever seen the maiden before… it is only with her that she will use such an endearment. I would dearly love to know why, even if it were to satisfy my professional curiosity.

Now, back at camp Kleo is under Imrain's watchful care. The maiden's blade had indeed cut through her throat, albeit it barely, but enough. Just enough to leave a scar for the rest of her life. As a Testament to something though I do not know what. The maiden, as I have said was speaking with Our Lady, now Fréa has joined them. He seems greatly interested in her tale. One that I know is my duty to record now that she has been thrown upon our path. Fate perhaps? All I know is that in her presence I feel uncomfortable, as though she carries a secret in her mind that would fell even one with the strongest will. There is something uncanny about her, unsettling. That Mandos would speak with her only serves to make this feeling stronger.

Yours in good faith

Malachi, Scribe of Ithilien.