Conversation in the Camp

It has been a day since the discussion of their fate with the rangers. Perhaps the words have set in--Cordelia, at least, has been particularly quiet, not making eye contact with any of the rangers if she can help it, but not being beligerrent or arrogant, either.

Today has been long and hot, though: the sun beating down relentlessly, even in the woods where the group is camped. It's wearing on toward the dinner hour, now, and the heat has not let up. Still, cooking fires have been lit, the heat of the flames shimmering in the air, adding smoke to the misery of the day.

For a while Cordelia tried to pick berries, but she has given up even on that now, and sits in what shade she can find, working on carving that small piece of wood she has been working at for what seems like ages. It may -seem- a little flower like at this point. Sweat beads her forehead, some dirt clinging there, too. And sweat on her hands, too--the knife slips and blood is drawn from her finger. Swearing, she puts her finger in her mouth.

[Giliath(#9838)] "Use this," says a voice, cool and melodic. Giliath has materialized from the trees around, and now he holds out a hand to her, holding something that looks like a leaf. Annoyingly, the elf seems as little bothered by heat as he does by cold if he is sweating, it doesn't show.

"Use...a leaf...?" There is skepticism in Cordelia's reply as she startles a little and then looks up at the elf and the leaf he offers. Carefully polite, but still skeptical. She wipes her forehead with the back of her arm, smearing dirt and sweat.

[Giliath(#9838)] "To stop the bleeding," Giliath replies, patiently. The leaf is still held out. "Bruise it and bind it on your finger." He shrugs. "Or hold it there a few minutes. It will not take long."

Cordelia blinks, head tillting a little at the elf in curiousity and surprise at something--but she takes the leaf. "Thank you." She takes her finger out of her mouth--there's blood on it still--then bruises the leaf a little and presses it to her finger.

[Giliath(#9838)] Giliath steps back, nodding. The hot sun that has been beating down all day has finally slid behind the tallest of the trees and there is more shade than there has been. And the sun and shadow dapples the elf, until he begins to look nearly like a shadow himself.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]  
    It has been a sultry day. Both Rhifaroth and some of the Rangers have been napping through the heat of the day. But as the day begins to wain, there are things to be done in the faintly cooler evening hour.

    'Seeker' has bestirred himself and gathered up his missing things. Those which he could find after the Rangers searched through all the gear from the old camp. With his boots now pulled on, the recovering man sits quietly sharpening his long blade. Rhifaroth's two knives are missing, but his most prized possesion is in hand.

    The whet stone wisks softly down the length of the bright steel, over and over again softly.

After a few moments, Cordelia cautiously peels the leaf off of her cut finger, peeking under it. As the blood seems to have stopped, she sets the leaf to the side, on top of the small knife she was using--but she doesn't go back to trying to whittle.

[Giliath(#9838)] The elf watches, long enough to see that the blood has stopped, then turns towards Rhifaroth, who is awake and alert now. He crouches down beside the man, watching silently as the other sharpens his blade. Some time passes, the sun sinks a little lower, the shadows grow a little longer. Then, Giliath says, almost abrupt in the quiet, "Your wife and children were well when I left Bree."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]  
    Rhifaroth has not been making any attempt to rise and make his evening ritual with the sun's setting, and he makes no effort to rise to do so now. His right hand, the one now missing a finger, continues to move the stone in a regular rhythm stroke after stroke, only pausing occationally to spit on the stone to rewet it, or to wipe off the blade and examine his work.

    No attention is paid to Giliath coming near. Not until the elf speaks.

    Then Rhifaroth's hand stops and he turns his head to look at the other. He says nothing, but his eyes actually focus on Giliath and study the elf.

[Giliath(#9838)] Giliath's eyes meet Rhifaroth's and he holds the man's gaze, saying nothing. It is true. The children and woman are well - or were when Giliath left, and as he left after the kidnappers, they most likely still are.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]  
    Having looked at Giliath so close to himself for a while after the elf's news of tidings in Archet, Rhifaroth returns his gaze to the naked blade in his left hand. The man has settled it to lay over his knees, whet stone still in his injured right hand. Looking at it, the engraving upon the blade near to the hilts is covered now with sooty, hardened pine resin, as is the pomel. Obscuring both designs.

    He hasn't said a word since they found him. Voice rough but barely audible, Rhifaroth says, "Thank you."

The sound of whittling slows, then steps as Cordelia sets her knife down again to pick up the leaf. "What bush is this from?" she asks, twisting around the tree to better talk to Giliath. Likely--from the startled look on her face as she sees Rhifaroth there--she hadn't realized the ranger was on the other side of th etree.

[Giliath(#9838)] Giliath nods in answer to Rhifaroth's response, but says nothing more, content to let the man speak or not speak as he wishes. Then Cordelia's head appears from behind the tree, and the elf glances towards her. "Seregon," he replies. "Do you know of it?"

"Blood of stone?" Cordelia asks, scrunching up her nose somewhat at the Westron version of the name. "I've heard of it but never seen it...or knew it had this use."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]  
    Having stopped for the moment in the care of his long sword, the man sitting at the base of the thick, old oak tree glances up as he hears Cordelia's voice. But it is Giliath's answer that draws his attention. Seregon is Rhifaroth's family name, if Giliath happens to remember - that day he had given over his arms to enter the Valley. They had asked his name...

    But as before, he says nothing. A flick of pale grey eyes for Cordelia, then Rhifaroth returns his attention to setting the whet stone aside and wiping down the steel.


[Giliath(#9838)] The elf nods. "It grows beneath the cliffs," he says, "As if the stone itself bled. Or wept." Dark eyes move to Rhifaroth, resting on the man's face then dropping to the sword.

Cordelia's eyes rest on Rhifaroth for a moment, but as the man isn't speaking or reacting to her, she settles down a little to speak more with the elf. "I'd like to see where it grows. Though I don't suppose that's something I can ask," she frowns slightly.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]  
    If Cordelia wasn't here, Rhifaroth might be tempted to speak with Giliath a little himself. To ask a thing. But as that young woman is close, the healing man keeps his silence. Except that he has turned his blade over and picks up his whet stone, spitting upon it, to begin the rhythm once more on the opposite side of the steel. Whisk... whisk... whisk... goes the stone, softly.


[<#9838>] Elven eyes do not leave Rhifaroth this time, though GIliath's words are for the young woman. 'Why not?' he asks her curiously. "It ... sharp," he says then, to Rhifaroth, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

"You'd take me to see where it grows?" Cordelia asks, not able to hide her eagerness in that. "I mean...well, I'd thought there are trolls in these lands. Plus...there's the rangers--I can't go without their approval of it."

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]  
    Giliath's quiet comment about the long sword already being sharp does not elicit a reaction in the man. Rhifaroth doesn't miss a beat and keeps on honing the steel he has honed for decades. Ever since this blade was recovered in Osgiliath. The only alteration in the pattern of the sound is when the stone runs over old knicks in the blade.

    A hesitation and a glance up as Rhifaroth hear's Cordelia's question of the elf.


[Giliath(#9838)] Giliath's quiet eyes move to Cordelia's face. He corrects her, "I asked why you should not ask." A small breeze stirs the hot air. "But I would take you," he finishes, "Did the rangers give approval." He glances back at the sword and its incessant sharpening.

"Thank you," Cordelia says, starting to move back around the tree again to where she originally was sitting. "I don't think that I will ask them, but thank you. Maybe..if circumstances were different." She half smiles.

[Rhifaroth(#27282)]  
    When he has counted out silently to himself the exact same number of strokes on the other edge of the blade, Rhifaroth stops the whet stone. He then uses a cloth to clean the stone and the blade both, then inspects the edge with a critcal, practiced eye.

    The stone is wrapped up and and put back into the small pack he had been carrying that fateful day out hunting in Archet the month before. Then the long sword is quietly slide back into its sheath.

    Rhifaroth then lets out a slow breath and stares off at nothing in particular, thoughts elsewhere.


Keldean approaches the small group, his face and hair sticky with sweat, the auburn curls frizzy. He's carrying a few peaches in his hand, more fruit found on his little self-appointed missions of exploration. He slows when he sees Cordelia speaking with the elf, then after a moment's decision approaches Rhifaroth. One of the peaches is held out in silent offering to the man.

Cordelia puts her own little knife away, and stands up, taking the wood she had been carving with her--and also, carefully, the leaf from Giliath, which she slips into the pouch she wears on her belt. She smiles quickly to Keldean, then slips off to another part of the camp.