(-Night-)
Morantwen and Frodo ran through the forest. Suddenly Astalder stopped, making Sam jump instinctively. Morantwen turned around to look at her mount. She gently ran her fingers through his mane. As she spoke gentle elvish she never broke eye contact. Frodo understood every word. Pippin walked over to him.
"Can you understand her?" Frodo looked at Pippin and nodded.
"I can understand her. But what she's saying doesn't make sense." He looked at Astalder. Except Astalder wasn't there. Just Morantwen, looking to the north. In her left hand was Frodo's pack, in the right, her own. She looked toward him. In the dark, her face was overshadowed. But, Frodo could see deep into her eyes, into reason.
"You let him go," he whispered. She smiled slightly and nodded.
"He's going back. To Aridan. There was no point for him to stay. There was a sense of burden." Frodo somehow sensed pain in Morantwen's heart as she spoke. He walked over to her and took his pack. He then ran ahead of the group, as the air suddenly got tense. Sam yelled to his fellow hobbit.
"Anything?"
"Nothing," Frodo replied. Then Pippin asked the question that was not hoped for by Sam, Frodo, or Morantwen.
"What is going on?" Fortunately, Merry answered it. Unfortunately, he boxed Frodo in a corner.
"That Black Rider was looking for something. Or someone. Frodo?" Frodo opened his mouth to say something but Pippin interrupted.
"Get down!" As they dropped behind some bushes in front of them, they all saw a silhouette. It was a Black Rider. The horse whinnied as it disappeared down the road.
"I have to leave the Shire," whispered Frodo to Merry, "Sam, Morantwen, and I must get to Bree."
"Right," replied Merry, nodding, "Buckleberry Ferry. Follow me." Suddenly, as soon as he had said that, a Black Rider came around them, its horse rearing its mangled head. Merry, Pippin, and Sam managed to get around, while Morantwen and Frodo were left in a panic. Morantwen yelled over the Rider's shriek.
"Frodo! Go left! I'll go right! Swift now! Go!" She sprint to the right but failed in grabbing its attention. Frodo was still trapped. But before Morantwen could think of anything to do, Frodo past the Black Rider swiftly. Morantwen exhaled and ran to follow the other hobbits. She ran down a dirt road and a wooden dock onto the raft. She turned around to see Frodo coming to the end of the dirt road with the enemy on his tail. She wasn't paying attention to the calls of Sam, Merry, and Pippin. Her thought was bent on the features of the so-called 'Black Rider'. The cloak upon it was heavy, its hand gloved with steel. The steel was in the shape of pointed scales. Morantwen couldn't hear any voices, all she could hear was the inhale and exhale of the evil Rider. She almost fell off the raft when Frodo jumped upon it.
"How far-to the nearest crossing?" he said, breathless with exhaustion.
"The Brandywine Bridge. Twenty miles," replied Merry.
After a couple of hours, they reached the Brandywine Bridge. While they were on the raft, they had gotten themselves organized. Sam arranged his pots nicely in his pack. Morantwen adjusted her weapons while Merry and Pippin watched in wonder.
Morantwen took out an assortment of weapons from her pack in all sorts of shapes. One was a knife, the blade was curved one way and the handle was bent in the other direction. She pulled the knife out of its ornate scabbard. Merry and Pippin's eyes twinkled as they saw the blade. Abstract designs of leaves were along it. Morantwen put it back in the sheath and slung it over her shoulder. Pippin thought it was so beautiful; he couldn't stop staring. He jumped when Morantwen tilted her head in his direction.
"Are you okay?" she asked. Pippin scratched his head and blinked rapidly.
"Oh, me? Yes, yes, I'm fine. Um, those are some pretty fine-looking weapons youse got there."
"This?" she pointed at the knife, "oh, its nothing much. If you liked that, you will really like this." She pulled out a strange-looking case. No straight lines were upon it. Leaf-like symbols were embellished upon its forest-green surface. She slowly pulled out the weapon inside. It was pretty much a long knife, is all. But what made it unique were, extensions, you could say. A curved spike stuck out each side of the elven-blade. Merry was strung. But that wasn't all.
What Merry and Pippin didn't see were the bow and the arrows upon Morantwen's back. The bow was smooth, pure silver with the same markings upon it as the blade. The string hooked onto it was a strand from her mother's own head. Her mother's hair was made of the finest threads ever. Softer than silk, they were, and durable. Morantwen shot many arrows and never has the strand frayed or broken. The arrows were made of the finest, lightest blue sapphire. The point was sharp and could pierce the skin with a small touch. It could pinpoint targets miles away and still manage a fatal strike. The end of it held a single Aridian leaf. It was smooth and tough, but also soft yet sturdy.
Morantwen put her weapons back into her pack neatly and pulled her cloak over her body. She looked into the water at her right. As the raft drifted along, everyone was silent, thinking about what had happened in the forest. Merry and Pippin were whispering amongst themselves while Sam counted his collection of mushrooms. Frodo was muttering to himself, hands to his forehead, shaking his head every once in a while.