'What was that one again?' Thindorion asked. 'All these whistles and calls are starting to sound the same to me…'

Captain Magorion laughed and shook his head. He let out a rising sequence of whistles that ended on a dropped-down note.

'That's my identifier; name and rank. It's really easy. Three notes up, and a drop of two, try it.'

Thindo gave a poor approximation of the same call Magorion had just demonstrated.

'Not bad,' the captain said. 'You'll get it soon enough.'

'Ah, but why should I need to?' Thindo asked with a grin. 'I know all the emergency calls…'

'Well, you might want to call me when there isn't an emergency…' Magorion lowered his voice. 'That is, if it is true what you say, that you and good Master Parvon are simply friends…'

'Good Master Parvon is honoured to call Master Thindorion his friend,' Parvon said with raised voice from where he walked just a few steps behind Thindo. 'And he would be delighted if good Master Thindo knew how to call good Captain Magorion when there is no emergency taking place; emergencies make flirting so troublesome, or so I have observed…'

Magorion jumped, and Thindo laughed over his shoulder. His eyes, Parvon noted, were brighter than they had been of late, his smile easier.

He smiled back.

'I know I walk softly, Thindo, but were you so enraptured by the captain's lesson that you forgot I was here?'

'Well, I hadn't forgotten, but…' Thindo bowed towards the captain. 'I was concentrating. So, I suppose you want to know my signifier now?'

'Really, I would, but can you call it accurately enough that I won't end up with some random matron answering…?'

Parvon dropped back a few paces, smiling to himself. They had been walking for ten days now, through cold rain and colder frost, and after the first three, Thindo had started to get bored, and after five, had begun to say so.

'Join the hunting and foraging parties,' Parvon had suggested. 'If you wish, I can ask Captain Thiriston to let us have target practice when we break for the day meal?'

The idea of practice was universally held to be a good plan, and had started at once, with a second bout in the early evening before darkness fell, but even with this increase of activity, still, Thindo needed something to do as he walked, so he talked to the escort warriors; conversations with the guard generally had led to what seemed a preference on Magorion's part, and which now seemed to be reciprocated. As long as Thindo didn't get too attached, Parvon found he approved.

Currently the weather was cold and dry, not excessively so, but enough to make one glad to keep moving; the cold wasn't harmful in itself, but it wasn't exactly pleasant. Parvon resolved this night that the decorative throw Merlinith and Araspen had given him would be a welcome addition to his bedroll.

Although now they were largely beyond the range of the flets, Captain Thiriston had continued to segregate Parvon's shelter from those of the rest of the Walkers; he found he rather liked the arrangement, for it meant he could be social around the cook-fire over supper, but then withdraw to the privacy of his shelter without having to field questions and enquiries from his companions.

For people did still come to him with questions, quite often preceded with something along the lines of 'I want to mention a problem… do you think the captain will listen if I tell him that…?'

'…it seems unfair that the wagon only carries the tents and bedding while we have to struggle with our packs…'

'…some of the warriors are loud in the night…'

'…I am sure there are people doing …married things where the elflings can hear…'

To each and every enquiry, even the ones that made him struggle not to smile, Parvon unfailingly answered that of course the captain would listen, no, it would not be better coming from him, not after Captain Thiriston had expressly told them to speak to the captain himself…

That aside, Parvon found he was almost enjoying the walk. He was not tired of trees, or felt they were rejecting him, as Thindo felt, and so there was a quiet delight for him as he passed through the forest. He did not regret the thought of leaving these trees behind, however; there were woods in Valinor, after all. As for what he did regret leaving behind… well, a few days on the trails had reminded him he had more friends than just Triwathon, and he did feel a pang of remorse where his friends in the King's Office was concerned – but this was the right thing to do, for Triwathon, for himself.

Ahead he could hear the exchanges between Magorion and Thindo, noted that other elves, Walkers and warriors both, had gathered in and had turned the private lesson in identifiers into a more public one. It was not a bad idea, really; they were reaching the end of the day's walk, and soon would be making camp, so this was a pleasant way to reinforce the necessary signals and to build friendship.

Suddenly he lifted his head; there had come a signal from the forest to the north-east. Parvon stopped in his tracks, listening as the rest of the elves flowed past him.

'Oh, I don't know that one!' one of the Walkers said. 'But it's not one of us, is it? Are we near a watch flet?'

'Good guess,' Magorion said, 'but no; next watch flet is an hour away, close to where we plan to camp.'

The call came again; rising and falling, swooping and beautiful, and Parvon knew it.

But it couldn't be.

His mouth felt dry, and he was lodged in place as if he had sent down roots into the ground.

From the front of the company, he heard someone signal back, acknowledging the identifier, adding a query. The reply came:

'Triwathon, Commander New Palace. Seeking Parvon.'

Parvon swallowed, tried to make his mouth form his own identifier, but he was too numb, his throat constricting and before he could manage to send out a sound, any sound, there was a rustle and a thud and an elf dropped from the tree next to him, landing in a crouch and looking up at him with lustrous, glowing eyes that held an accusation in them.

'You're leaving me? You're sailing? After all you said at the New Palace about how it was only to offer penance, that you'd never, ever sail? How can you do this to me, Parvon, don't you know I love you?'