For this (first part of the) chapter I've listened to Ancient Cry, composed by Russ Landau and Fear not this night, featuring Asja – for those interested!
I've been a bit slower than planned with the update but I had a moment of despair, which I have once or twice a week ... curse you, my final thesis. Curse you! I struggled with this chapter, or at least the middle part of it, in what was a far greater challenge than I had first anticipated, but I wanted to post it so we can 'finally' reach Erebor. Though, with all I had planned, I still ended up cutting the chapter in two ... I have said Fíli will make his first appearance in chapter 5 and I'll do my utmost best to keep my word!
Please enjoy a very long chapter 4, and feel free to leave a review – each and every one of them are greatly appreciated and are highly motivational!
When Ravens Fly
Chapter IV: Snap
In the hunt for flowers they had put quite the distance between themselves and the pulled-up wagon, but still the warmth of the crackling fire mixed with the heat of Spring rolled against her face, as the pair approached the Dwarven group's camp once more. The weaving, twisting flames danced in the dusk, sending a trail of smoke into the air as shadows mingled with the setting nightfall. Blue turned to dark.
The sun had long set over the lands of Rohan to the west.
Both Frár and his wife were preoccupied, but Ranel noticed a pair of dark eyes lingering on her momentarily below bushy eyebrows. Watching. She knew the old Dwarf still had his doubts about her, and she did not hold it against him in the slightest; suspiciousness and mistrust were engraved deeply in the very nature of a Dwarf – even though he most likely did not see her as a real threat to his family, his trust in other races only ran so deep.
Lóna released her hand to rush ahead, immediately after colliding with her brother who had walked to meet them, and forced a sharp exhale from the older Dwarf when the small, but remarkably stocky, child wrapped her arms around his middle in a squeeze. With an amused smile, Ranel paused in her step to watch the scene unfold. "Lóni, look! Look what I collected!" The Dwarfling exclaimed eagerly, almost pushing the flowers into his dark beard.
Nearly cross-eyed to see the red flowers presented to him, he then quickly picked up the small girl; flipping her upside down in one fluid motion, pointedly ignoring her delighted squeals and wriggling, he responded through a laugh. "Tell me then, what have you collected?" He asked and looked down onto his sister, near vanishing behind clothes turned upside down, pooling across her reddened cheeks so that only small tufts of hair poked out. It was rough treatment, but the love – and hidden care, with how his calloused hands held on to her middle tightly – was clear in the interaction between the two Dwarf siblings.
"It's–," Lóna paused, a hint of uncertainty to her voice. "I don't know, actually."
The older Dwarf let out a hum in response, the weathered lines of his features still wrinkled in gaiety, before he turned his dark orbs to meet Ranel's gaze. He bowed his head slightly in greeting, careful not to drop the fidgeting bundle in his arms. "Miss Ranel, I hope my sister has not been much trouble? She can be quite the headache if she wills it." He shook the girl, receiving a giggle in return.
"Not at all," Ranel assured him and took a step closer to the two, shaking her head; her fingers laced behind her back as she returned the gesture in kind to greet Lóni. She fell into step at his side as they both moved to join the remaining Dwarves at the fire, her soft footfalls in between his heavy leather boots. "I rarely have the pleasure of such marvelous company. In fact–," Ranel added, attention flickering to the bundle of flowers. "–she was a great help collecting Shy Clovers."
At the name the Dwarf raised an eyebrow in query, his gaze following her own. Though, it was another that put the question to words, voice mumbled, muffled, below the child's layered skirts. "What's a Shy Clover?" Lóna asked, attempting to push the fabrics from her face in what seemed to be her only discomfort; in fact, she appeared rather at ease with her current way of transportation, head hovering only a little above the grassy ground.
Ranel pressed a hand to her lips in feigned surprise and let out a gasp. "Have you not heard the story of the Maiden of Flowers and the Golden Knight?" Both Dwarves watched her in bewilderment; one with open wonder, while the other saw through her ruse quickly and hid a smile of his own. Lóna shook her head no vigorously. "My, my ... Perhaps I'd better tell you this tale tonight?" Lóni, turning his attention to the campsite, halted the conversation when he quickly flipped his sister the right way up and placed her on the grass; ruffling her hair, he puffed her along to join the awaiting dwarrowdam.
While he received a look of discontent, Lóna quickly slipped down next to her mother in a tender embrace; the dwarrowdam, running her fingers absently through the smaller Dwarf's unruly and ruffled curls in an attempt to smoothen them, turned green eyes to her son and Ranel. "Don't just stand around, my dear. Come, have a seat," she said and waved her free hand to an empty space around the fire.
Lowering her head in a sign of gratitude, tugging loose strands of hair behind an ear, Ranel fumbled with her belongings.
The Dwarves had cleared a small area and trampled the grass flat, making sure the surrounding greenery would not catch fire overnight, and she slipped into a comfortable position close to the heat. Nola then took notice of the flowers, still tightly grasped between chubby fingers. "What're those, Lóna?" The dwarrowdam asked, taking the stack for closer examination.
Carefully placing her lute on the ground, Ranel dragged the satchel into view and, with her attention remaining on the Dwarves, rummaged through its insides. Lóni took a spot next to his father, both Dwarves still clad in their light leather armor and flanked by heavy axes. Ranel very much doubted she would see either without their weapons throughout the journey. Coarse fabric brushed the tip of her fingers when she pushed a rolled up cover aside, and then she grabbed the item she was looking for. "Shy Clovers," Lóna spoke. "They're hiding in the grass, but look at how many I found."
"Shy Clovers?"
"Yes. Have you not heard the story of the Maiden of Flowers, Amad?" The girl held her chin high and gave her mother a pointed look. Ranel's mouth tilted into a smile at the exchange, pulling out a package from her satchel; she worked her way through the tight knot, fingers easing off the strings and she brushed the wrapping paper aside. "Then you must insist Ranel tells you the story tonight!" A sweet smell welled up from within the satchel. While she had planned to savor the – to her, very pricey – sugar rolls for the long journey, Ranel felt urged to share what scarce supplies she had with the Dwarves.
In return for their hospitality it was very little, but she had nothing else to offer as payment.
"I know it is not much," she spoke slowly, hesitation lacing her voice, but then she put forward the bread. A blush crept over her cheeks, trailing all the way up to her ears and down her neck, when all four Dwarves turned their attention to her. "But I hope you will receive this as a token of my gratitude." Nola carefully placed the clovers to the side, tilting her face slightly in bemusement; then the dwarrowdam accepted the offer with a soft smile, making green eyes come alive in the light of the flames.
A wave of relief washed over Ranel.
"They are sugar rolls baked this very morning," she explained. "–back in Minas Tirith. I have only tried them once myself, but I can say they are truly worth a taste." She did not know much about Dwarven culture or decorum, and her gift could just as easily have been a great insult to her hosts rather than an offering of good will. But the Dwarves gave no indication of displeasure; a quiet sigh of relief left her lips, letting out a breath Ranel did not even know she was holding. "That is, of course, if you like sweet things."
"It is too much, Miss Ranel, there really was no need," Lóni spoke. "But we appreciate your consideration."
She clasped her hands in her lap, fingers intertwined, stalling their fretting travel across the hem of her shirt. "You have done so much for me already. I feel it is too little."
"We shall accept your gift," a gruff voice spoke with definiteness and authority, and Ranel looked to the oldest Dwarf of the company from across the flames. Frár held her gaze for a long moment. Then he lowered his head in a bow to show his acceptance; the silver and gold beads, holding his elaborate braids in place, shimmered in the gleam of the fire, standing out against his black hair.
"Thank you," she said with a smile.
Afterwards, Nola had firmly, leaving no room for argument – even though her daughter had attempted such only to be scolded into quiet pouting – decided the sweet breads would be saved until later. In stead the company enjoyed a light dinner comprised of roasted eggs and ham cooked over the fire; they ate in silence, all content with the quiet after a long day of travel. Ranel, borrowed plate resting in her lap, looked out over the unending stretches of darkness around them, bathed only in a silver glow in the rare moments the moon appeared high above.
While the morning sky had been clear, the wind had changed with the arrival of night and in its wake swept a heavy cover of clouds down from the north. The grass rustled in the fresh breeze. Glowing sparks of ash were carried off, disappearing with the wind. It had grown colder, though it posed no challenge against the warmth of Spring. And she had slept outside under far worse conditions and circumstances ... With a grey world her only company and raindrops, never-ending, a heavy pitter-patter until she was soaked to the bone; there had been no dry place to sleep, and the layer of mud so thick her steps took every ounce of strength her body could muster until she could barely stand up straight.
Ranel had travelled throughout the night, crossing the barren Brown Lands, freezing cold and shivering, only to be met with dark greasy surfaces of sullen waters come morning. The Dead Marshes had opened up before her. Ranel drew back from the memory, the nightmare, and huddled closer around herself as an unnatural chill festered within the very marrow of her bones. She shifted closer to the fire. Five days ... She could barely move when she had finally collapsed on the other side, clothes and skin caked with mud, dirty and grimy, and with the acrid smell of the dead still lingering in the air. Never again, she thought now – words she had repeated back then, again and again in her mind, curled in on herself.
Her hand found the familiar touch of wood, seeking comfort in the presence of her lute and the dread receded.
Chewing absentminded on a piece of meat, Ranel looked away from the darkness only to notice the silence had been replaced with soft murmurs of conversation. Lóni had joined his mother and sister, all three Dwarves speaking in Khuzdul over their finished plates and cups; the only one still eating was Frár, staring ahead into the crackling flames and plate left untouched. Shadows kept his face hidden, veiled from her clandestine gaze behind falling tresses of hair, but ever so often his eyes flashed to the sways of fire. He was clearly deep in thought, quite alike what she had been only moments before, and curiosity sparked within her.
But Ranel did not ask. It was not in her place to do so, nor did she believe the Dwarf would ever share it with her. He shifted, immediately forcing her to redirect her stare elsewhere. He looked like the Dwarves she had seen so many times before. Haunted by the past, the things he had seen and what he had lost. He looked old enough to have been alive back when Smaug attacked. Back when the dragon had killed all who crossed its path to the gold, until the kingdom was swept clean in a wave of fire and death. Perhaps he was there? Her brow furrowed, the grim thought leaving a bad taste of bitterness in her mouth.
So many lives had been lost that day ...
"Ranel?" Lóna asked.
She snapped to attention, prying her eyes from the flames and on to the three Dwarves. "Sorry, I was lost in thought." She laughed faintly, lips tilting into a smile at the small Dwarfling. "Yes?"
The girl was twirling a single flower stalk between her fingers, curled up against her mother with satisfaction and attempted to quell a yawn through great effort. "Won't you tell me the story of the Maiden of Flowers? Amad says I have to sleep soon, but I want to hear it." Ranel hummed lowly in pretended consideration, gaze flickering to Nola, who in return nodded faintly and smiled; at the dwarrowdam's side, Lóni leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, dark orbs never straying from Ranel. He, too, appeared curious. "Pretty please?"
"Very well, then," Ranel responded. Moving slightly to find a better spot on the ground, she pulled her legs close and folded her fingers behind her back. The audience gave her their undivided attention, and her smile widened a notch. "A long, long time ago there was a beautiful and fair maiden. Now, while most stories tell tales of princesses and noble ladies, she was neither. This maiden was born to a farmer and his wife, both poor but so very full of love and care for their only daughter. So she grew up, with tattered dresses and in a place far away from all else except the green fields and thatched roof of her home.
"And her heart was pure and filled with kindness, for she had never seen the cruelty or evil that lay beyond the fields. But then, one day, she woke to greet the morning with a strange streak of adventure flowing through her veins, bidding her to walk past the borders, beyond the world she knew. So the maiden moved past the green fields, further than she had ever gone before, until tall trees rose high above her." Ranel paused, allowing the crackles and pops of firewood to fill the silence. Then, lowering her voice slightly for the next part of the story, she continued. "The forest was dark, the trees wretched and contorted, like dark fingers that reached out towards her ... to drag her into the darkness with them. But the maiden was not scared – she had never felt fear before, and she only watched the forest with curiosity.
"'Such a strange place,' the maiden thought, 'I wonder what lies beyond?' – and so she stepped into the darkness of the old forest." Lóna let out a small gasp, clutching onto her mother's skirt, yet with rapt attention only for the story. Running a hand over the dark curls in reassurance, Nola smiled faintly at her daughter but urged Ranel to continue with her free hand. "She walked further and further, until she could no longer see the blue skies or smell the fresh air, and she began to feel something she had never felt before. The maiden was scared. There were small, gleaming eyes between the trees, watching her. Waiting. The maiden could not find her way back, but had lost her way in the dark of the forest and the eyes never stopped following her. 'Please leave me alone,' she told the creatures.
"'Please go away!' But they did not listen. And so the fair maiden ran – she ran as fast as her legs could carry her to escape. And now the eyes no longer only watched ... they gave chase. Through bushes and over uprooted trees, in and out and around the thick trunks of the forest. The creatures snapped at her, baring white teeth and howled loudly all around her. And then, what should not happen, happened ... The maiden stumbled and fell and she could not get up ... But suddenly–" She raised an arm, brandishing an invisible weapon. "–a great, golden blade, shining as if it had a light of its own, soared through the air in a blinding flash. A figure stepped between her and the creatures, sword in hand and with such great power her attackers fled back into the forest without as much as a fight! And that is how the maiden first met the Golden Knight," she said quickly, pausing to catch her breath and watch her audience.
She remained quiet.
"And what happened then?" Lóna inquired. "Stories have to end with them living happily ever after."
"Now, who says the story is finished?" With the hint of a smile, Ranel leaned back onto her hands to give the child a mischievous look. Soft grass, swaying in the light breeze, brushed the tips of her fingers and grazed her knuckles. No, there was still much more to the story, but she had not missed the concealed yawns and droopy eyes of the smallest Dwarf. "It is far from over, but alas ... the hour has grown late, I fear. Perhaps we should save the rest of the story for some other time?" Ranel directed the last question to the dwarrowdam.
The Dwarfling gaped, gaze flickering from Ranel to her mother.
"Can't we finish the story? Amad?" She pleaded with a whine to her voice, small fingers tugging at the dwarrowdam's dress in eager coaxing. "Just a bit more, I promise I'll be good tomorrow. Please?"
"I believe Ranel is right," Nola said, ignoring the whimper that followed her answer. "It is late. And you will be awfully grumpy tomorrow if you don't get any sleep."
"I can just sleep in the wagon tomorrow," the Dwarfling interjected.
"No." With a sigh, the older Dwarf came to her feet and pulled her daughter up with her. Lóna did her utmost to drag her feet, growing as heavy as possible until she was pratically dragged across the ground, but her mother appeared unfazed. "No," she repeated, tone growing cross. "One more word about this and you won't get to hear the rest of the story later, either. So be good and go sleep."
When the two Dwarves disappeared inside the wagon a silence settled around the campfire.
Ranel shifted and swallowed. "I do not hope my story caused your mother any trouble," she said, looking up to meet Lóni's eyes.
"None," he said kindly. "Lóna knows when no really does mean no. Though, I must admit, I was quite keen on hearing the story until the end as well."
She let out a laugh in response, a smile making its way across her features and she lowered her voice slightly, assuring the Dwarfling could not hear what came next. "I feel I must be honest, Master Lóni – I have only just come up with the story to accompany the flowers. They are but regular red clovers–," she said, but, with a wry grin, added, "–though great for tea, which was my very purpose to have them picked in the first place."
"I had a sneaking suspicion it was so. Nonetheless, I look forward to hearing how the maiden came to earn her title!"
It was not long after the youngest had been tucked away for sleep, before the rest of the company moved to follow suit; while Ranel had briefly considered offering to keep watch, she was well aware that her suggestion would be respectfully, but firmly, dismissed. So, in stead, she had rummaged through the satchel, pulled out her cheaply bought cover – with more holes than not – and settled in a spot near the warmth of the fire.
Quickly declining the dwarrowdam, who had asked if she would sleep with her and Lóna inside the wagon, Ranel had bid her hosts a good night.
The Dwarves would likely feel more at ease with her out in the open, where they could keep an eye on her, and she much preferred to spend her evening below the stars. Having spent the entire day inside the cramped space, she could use a breath of fresh air. Ranel lay on her side, with the fabric pulled tightly up to her ears, as she stared into the dancing flames and listened to the last bustles of camp. Frár and his son were to take turns keeping guard, and the younger Dwarf crept into a comfortable spot with his cape wrapped closely around his stocky frame; a gleam, a golden light against the darkness, travelled across the metal of his weapon, rested not far from his hands.
She moved, attempting to get a sharp rock out of her back, and then willed her eyes close, feeling eyelashes flutter against her skin. Shadows danced across her eyelids, and heat rolled against her face as it carried a smell of ash and fire. Ranel did not know when she had been lulled to sleep, to the soft crackles of fire and the whispers of grass in the gentle breeze, but sleep she did.
And when morning came once more, it was to the chirping of birds and with a sky changing from dark to crimson and orange. At first she merely enjoyed her comfortable position, eyes trained on the patches of golden-white clouds illuminated by the glowing sphere rising into the horizon; the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky, banishing the quiet of night, until it peaked out above the green fields of Anórien.
The campfire had slowed, neglected in the early hours of morning, until only embers smoldered within the ashen pile. The Dwarven company was still quiet and yet to rise, but she knew Frár was up, silently watching her from across the burnt wood, in the spot he had spent most of the night on guard duty. Vigilantly protecting his family in their sleep. And he knew she was awake.
Ranel shifted once more, pushing off from the ground into a seated position.
She looked towards the Dwarf, their eyes meeting, and she nodded her head in a respectful greeting. "Good morning, Mister Frár."
"Good morning, lass," he greeted gruffly and sent a puff off smoke out from a long pipe, nestled between chapped lips. It tipped up and down as he spoke, and she fleetingly watched the smoke ring until it dispersed into nothingness. Rolling her shoulders, feeling her joints and muscles ache from the rough and hard ground, she drew her cover aside to stretch fully. Her fingers ran through unruly hair and she felt knots tighten against her pulls; contract and stretch as she attempted to loosen the worst tangles. I should cut it soon, she thought with a frown. "Slept well?" Frár asked, beady eyes following the movement of her hands.
"Quite well, thank you," she answered with a smile, finally abandoning the feeble attempt at salvaging her hair and allowed her hands to rest in her lap. "I usually do not dare light a fire when I travel alone, so I enjoyed the warmth it provided." He nodded slowly in response, face drawn into contemplative folds and lines. "I take it the night was without any disturbances?"
"No soul in sight," he said, turning to look out across the grasslands with thick brows furrowed. "Tell me, lass, how do you stay clear of dangers?"
"I hide," she said plainly, mouth tilting into a smile and she shrugged her shoulders lightly. "If I can get away with it, otherwise I run as quickly as I can."
"With no way to defend yourself?" He asked, an incredulous wonder to his tone. "That is quite the risk to take. Especially for a woman."
She remained quiet for a moment, once more watching the winding trails of smoke. "I much prefer not to think of what would happen if I ever were to get caught, and so far I have managed without ever truly facing the perils of the road. Not to mention I know the paths, both the frequented and the hidden ones, far better than most around these parts." Their gazes locked, hers speaking of a resolute belief in her own abilities. Then she bowed her head slightly, breaking the eye contact behind loose strands of hair. "Not to mention there are far scarier things in this world than what you can find on the road ..."
The Dwarf did not respond except for a low puff of pipe weed.
The light rapidly turned brighter, and Ranel moved to repack her belongings; she did not imagine the Dwarves planned to linger for much longer, but would travel with the early light of morning. She stood, pulling the cover up with her, and shook it to get rid of the gathered dust and dirt; then she folded it quickly, until it was compact enough to fit inside her satchel. Her gaze trailed over the camp, noting Lóni was barely visible below a woolen blanket and dark red hood pulled down across his face. The young Dwarf was snoring soundly. "I assume we will continue on towards Rohan?" She asked, once more looking away from the slumbering form.
"Aye," Frár responded curtly.
Ranel hummed in thought; she pictured the long road and knew the most demanding stretch lay ahead – if, of course, they managed to avoid any bandits or, worse, stray orc packs from the mountains. They would have to pull the wagon through not only the Entwash, but the fast-flowing waters of the river Anduin; The Great River at this time of year overflowing its shores in freezing cold, melted snow from the mountains. But there was no other path to travel, at least not if they wished for the Dwarves' belongings and livelihood to make it to Erebor safely. Or the ponies, for that matter.
"That is most likely for the best," she said quietly, to herself more than anything.
The group had, with the last streaks of night vanishing into the far west beyond the horizon, emptied camp and firmly strapped the rested ponies to the wagon; Ranel stayed inside, below the white cloth, alongside the dwarrowdam and her daughter. Once more they kept a swift pace down the dusty road in an attempt to reach the Lonely Mountain and to reunite the Dwarven company with their kin. The days quickly passed and blurred into one for Ranel. They would travel all day without rest, only stopping when the sunlight dimmed to dark and they could no longer see the road ahead; Frár and Lóni would keep watch, the fire would burn to embers, and they would rise in the morning to do it all over again.
Three days after Ranel had set out from Minas Tirith, had they finally passed the slow-winding Mering Stream, its waters shallow and clear, and crossed the borders between Gondor and Rohan. The landscape changed very little at first, and the green fields continued on all sides. But the slopes turned steep and soon hills stole away their previous unhindered view of their surroundings; cliffs, jagged and razor-edged, protruded from the ground and bathed the bending road in broken shadows beneath the sun.
Both Frár and Lóni grew more attentive, sharp-eyed, and their hands never strayed far from the hilts of their axes; nor did they allow the youngest Dwarf to venture far from camp, neither alone nor accompanied. While Anórien saw its share of patrols, keeping the small villages under protection, the Eastfold – so far from the great golden halls of Meduseld – was entrusted to its own and seldom the hooves of the Rohirrim trampled across the grasslands.
While Ranel had wandered to and from Rohan many times and never encountered any real dangers, she knew her reassurances would fall on deaf ears; though she travelled with the group, she was at no time truly a real part it – they were Dwarves and she nothing but an outsider, someone they would part with once they reached Erebor. Though, she did find a warmth in the constant attention given by Lóna, and Lóni kept her company in the evenings to exchange stories, and he never failed to bring a smile to her face. Ranel told him of her travels and of the places she had seen, and he described the halls of Ered Luin; their magnificence, with pillars so tall they vanished into the darkness above, carved from the very stones of the mountain.
Ranel could not blame Frár for protecting his children. So she allowed them their cautiousness, quietly watching with a shake of her head, all the while knowing well they did not trust the realm of Men.
They would find no dangers in Rohan.
And her prediction came true. No harm had come to the group, nor had they encountered any other travelers on their journey, and two days after crossing the Mering Stream and the road had turned north, they once more found themselves on the shores of a river early one morning. The ponies had been reluctant in crossing the shallow waters of the Entwash until Frár had jumped from the wagon, walking alongside the pair through the slow-winding current. And not long after both wagon, ponies and a very soaked Dwarf found themselves on the other side; they allowed the animals a small rest, and Lóni led them down for a drink at the river bank before they would continue their journey through Rohan.
Grabbing the chance to stretch her legs, Ranel welcomed a breath of fresh air against her face and the sun, high in a cloudless sky that renewed her spirits. She inhaled deeply. Shielding her gaze with a hand she peered out over the waters; the still surface reflected the sunlight in a glimmering brightness, almost as if white diamonds were strewn across the river in between the stones and pebbles. The river, narrow not far in the distance, had opened up and became wide at the crossing; a mirror of azure waters rivaling the heavens above.
Patches of trees dotted the green landscape along the Entwash, and far ahead she could make out the contoured crags of Emyn Muil, fencing in the Eastemnet from the Dead Marshes and the Brown Lands of Rhovanion. A black smudge against the blue skies. Song filled the clear air and a pair of birds, shadowed beneath the sun, soared high in a dance of twists and turns until they vanished from sight. Her eyes followed them for a moment, but a grey haze in the distance, creeping closer over the jagged peaks to the east, caught her attention; leaden ominous clouds. She frowned, tracking the wind's current direction.
The rain would not bother them through the Eastemnet, though Ranel feared they would catch up to the storm on the banks of the Anduin.
But the Dwarves spared no time on the beauty of the river Onodló, nor appeared to mind – or notice – the gathering clouds, and the wagon set in motion once more.
Ranel had worried with good reason, and less than a day's journey from The Great River the storm hit them in a flurry of heavy raindrops, beating down on the group relentlessly and without pause. Droplets trickled down, soaking through the cloth, and the dwarrowdam fussed around in an attempt to protect the crates and food. A flash of lightning carved through the darkness, and a rumble reverberated throughout the narrow space. Howling winds blew onto them sharply from the side, so forceful the wagon rattled and slid in the deep mud several times, until the Dwarves finally chose to ride out the storm.
The wagon was pulled some distance off the road until it was shielded from the downpour beneath a rocky outcrop; the ponies, exhausted and with water dripping from their long manes, were guided into a narrow space between two stone. With the wagon providing some cover, the drenched animals would get some comfort and protection from the gale winds and rain. They made no attempts to start a fire, but in stead huddled in on themselves and with both cloaks and hoods drawn tight. Nola had at first planned to spend the night inside the wagon with the youngest Dwarf, but Frár appeared tense and would not allow his family out of sight. Ranel was of the same mind as the old Dwarf, with a limited vision of their surroundings and this close to the wilds it would be far safer to stick together – even if it meant they'd be drenched to the bone before morning.
And so, with lightning sending wretched shadows over the steep rock face and rain hammering down, the small company found little rest that night.
Fingers clutching the Lebethron wood tightly, cloak pulled close to her chest to shield the lute from the thunderstorm, Ranel kept her head low; every inch of her body was soaked through, hair clammy and clung to her cheeks while small drops, first icy cold to the touch until her skin numbed, ran down her face and fell into the folds of her clothes. She pulled her legs close and rested her back against a large boulder, finding little consolation from the gnawing wind.
The rainfall was so dense it deafened all other sounds until she could hear nothing else but the rhythmic drum of droplets against the rock.
A world of grey enveloped the group and the clouds darkened further as nightfall came. While the Dwarves found some warmth in each other, sitting close together to shelter Lóna in the middle, Ranel tried to find some rest despite her shivering body. She tugged the hood further down over her face, blowing heat into her hand to still the trembles, and then she forced her eyes close.
The storm raged throughout the night and only with the first rays of morning light, piercing the heavy cover of clouds, the rain began to still. Ranel had barely slept more than a few fretful moments, snapping awake at each thunderous rumble and flash of light, and the weather had put a chill in her body. With hands barely functioning, she pulled away her tattered cloak and allowed a view of their surroundings – something she had not done the night before, where she could barely see her own two feet in the dark. The outcrop consisted of several tall, sharp walls of stone, curving alongside the path, creating several small dents like the one they had sought cover beneath.
Both ponies, looking awfully downtrodden, stood closest to the rockside and looked as drenched as she felt; but they still munched on what little patches of grass that cluttered the ground around them. A few pine trees grew from the crevices and in between the large boulders. Streaks of light broke the clouds, golden behind the grey skies, while the ground was filled with puddles of muddy rainwater.
She staggered to her feet, a numbness still holding claim to her body and she did her utmost to make no sound. Clammy clothes clung to her skin – but the lute had survived the storm and she sighed in relief. She ran a hand through her damp hair and glanced towards the Dwarves; with their dark cloaks and short figures, bathed in shadows, they almost became one with the rocks around them.
Ranel, catching the bemused glance Lóni gave her beneath the rim of his hood, gestured out towards the rocky landscape in a half-shrug.
At first he appeared conflicted, contemplating whether he should let her wander off or not, but in the end merely granted her a nod; with a faint smile at the Dwarf, she slung the lute across her back, shoes sinking down into the mud as she trudged off from the group in an attempt to find some privacy. The rain had come to an end, filling the air with a humid smell of earth, but the area was still covered in only a dim light and it made her walk slow and uneasy. Slipping several times on the smooth stones or in the dirt, she rounded a collection of rocks and the grasslands unfurled before her.
The ground sloped downwards, and she could see the meandering road – a brown string weaved through green – continue, further until the landscape changed from rolling hills and fields to woods; first a few trees, cropping up along the path, but soon they grew denser until she could no longer see beneath the mesh of branches. The border of Rohan lay before them and the true wilderness stretched ahead.
She wrung her hair, feeling tresses tangle between her fingers and water travel down her palms and wrists.
A branch snapped behind her.