(Archive) Erinhaim

November 1, 1999

The sun is just beginning to peek over the corner of the forest to the south. The Gondorian camp is slowly beginning to come to life as folks start to trickle from their tents. The guards march crisply around the perimeter of the camp, ever watchful of any surprise attack from the forces of evil. The smell of breakfast cooking permeates the cool morning air as the cooks prepare to feed a hoard of hungry travelers.

Bleary eyes of the woman emerging from the healer\'s tent, blink at the brightness of the sun and a groan can be heard as she brings hands to her temples. Aearwen pauses in her footsteps as her eyes close and she visibly weaves. Soft fingers gently massage her temples for a moment before she dares to peek open one eye again and glance around the camp. The normally sweet face of this woman looks like a storm cloud this morning as she moves through the

camp.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] Wet morning, the camp a flooded battlefeild after the storm abated late last night. All travel is marked by the sucking sound of boots in mud, people trudging through the misty light of the rosey silver light of the autumnal sun.

The fires have burned low during the night, theyr survival due mainly to the constant vigilance of those who needed them to stave off the cold and pelting rain. At one of them, the large figure of Erinhaim looms crouched. In his heavy hands is a great log he uses to keep the flames alive in the cold, damp aire.

Lifting the hem of her skirt in an effort to keep it from dragging through the muck of the camp, Aearwen frowns at those she passes. Her face pale and drawn as she stops at the corner of one wagon and places her hand on the wheel, eyes close again as she stands there. Waving her hand in dismissal as one of the Silver Guardsmen stop to ask if everything is alright. She straightens her shoulders and begins to walk towards the cooks tents.

A frown furrows her brow as the spies Erinham, crouched near a fire, feeding logs to the flames to keep the cool morning air at bay. Growling out a less than hearty greeting to him, \"Dare say I, that it is not a goodmorning. How fare you Erinhaim.\" Again, those fingers go to her temples at the sound of her own voice rings in her head.

Erinhaim chuckles softly as his dark eyes rise from their fiery vigil, \"Better than you, or I am dead.\" The tall man shakes his head and looks back into the coals he tends, \"Too much can do you ill, it seems.\" Grinning merrily he pokes a crimson eaten log and narrows his eyes as a sudden burst of heat wafts beyond the stone ring of the pit.

\"Have you eaten yet?\" The question comes, the tall man\'s face inclined to look at Aearwen. He stands, suddenly towering above the woman at his side. Smiling softly, he offers, \"It often happens that an ailment such as this can be cured by a full stomach.\"

Growling low in her throat at the mere mention of food, Aearwen glares at the cheerful face of Erinhaim. \"Food? Food! Did you say? I would not think to pass a single bite past these lips today or I shall simply die.\" Laughing and then clutching her temples she says, \"Do you suppose I shall recover from this malady?\", trying to make light of her current condition.

Tilting her head back as bleary, swollen blue eyes drag up to the tall height of Erinhaim she asks, \"Did you sleep any last night?\" Turning her back to the fire to banish the chill from her entire body. Weaving suddenly, Aearwen\'s clutches at Erinhaim\'s arm in an effort to remain on her feet. Weakly she says, \"Perhaps I could use a cup of something warm to drink.\"

[Elowyn(#1325)] Emerging from one of the supply wagons is a small cloaked figure, She has a somewhat large crate in her hands as she slips off the edge of the wagon. Her boots squish deep in the standing water and mud as she manages to keep her balance. Making strained steps through the mud she makes her way across the camp as it is obvious that her load is indeed heavy. The hood of her cloak is gushed back to reveal the face of Elowyn as the rain splashes against the hair viening half her face.

Erinhaim smiles, almost sympathetically, \"You can have both... You knowst well that all we\'ve eaten this entire time upon this bloody road within this bloody camp that our sole consumption has been of stew in this movable feast.\" His dark eyes harden at the thought, the lines about his mouth taking on a severe cast. The tall man sighs, his eyes moving the span of a sundial as they circle to the heavens and back to the earth.

\"Come, I think today\'s repast is something with corn in it... And I hear there is a delicacy within the pot: oysters. Some enterprising young lad found them whilst ahunting.\" The heavy hands usher his friend away from the campfire to the smaller cookpots that have just now reached the broil. As Elowyn emerges, the aged veteran bows his head low, \"Good morrow, mistress.\"

Aearwen brings one hand up to her mouth at the mention of the stew that has been the repast of the camp for months on end. As she and Erinhaim move closer to the cookpots a wretch leaps from the woman\'s mouth as she begins to heave. Bending over at the waist, her body quivers and shudders with each loud sound that issues forth, a dry heave producing nothing but pain.

Raising her head as she hears Erinhaim greet Elowyn, she weakly waves one hand to the woman, wiping the sweat that beaded across her upper lip in the moments of sickness. Embarassment floods her face as she glances back at Elowyn and words are finally spoken as she appears to be back in control of her facilities, \"Goodmorn Elowyn.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"That is no way for a noblewoman to appear in public, My Lady,\" Erinhaim says darkly, taking the woman by the arm and walking her past Elowyn quickly. The heavy hands of the veteran force her gently in the direction of the water barrels which sit, full of the cold rain water chilled by the evening frost. As they approach, the liquid surface of the dark drink ripples, sending tendrils of vapor skywards.

Erinhaim glances about him quickly, checking to see that there are few witnesses to this noble woman\'s sorry state. Pleased, the tall man stops Aearwen right before a barrel brimming to the edge.

Struggling against the heavy hands of Erinhaim, the noble woman hisses at him under her breath in an effort to keep attention from the two of them as they move through the camp. \"Let go of me this instant!\", her tiny foot stamps at the ground as he almost lifts her from her feet. Her eyes widen as she realizes the destination he has in mind and she struggles more earnestly against the hold of the tall, strong man

Muttering and cursing at him in a low, vile hiss, Aearwen\'s eyes take in the barrel of cold water before her and she says, \"You would not do this, would you?\" Incredulous eyes flash up to the man she thought of as friend she shakes her head and then closes her eyes as that movement brings on another wave of dizziness. Gripping Erinhaim\'s arm tightly she pleads softly, \"Do not let me fall and make a spectacle of myself, liquour very rarely passes my lips for this very reason.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"Trust me, this will help,\" Answers Erinhaim\'s gruff baratone. The large man hoists her straight before him, holding her in front of the barrel lip. With a minute shift in balance, the heavy hands soon brace the woman\'s neck and waist. Aearwen\'s head is plunged into the dark waters sending a cascade over the edge of the container to make larger puddles on the muddy ground.

The large hand keeps her submerged for but a moment and then the Lady of Ethring-Bragollach is pulled into the open air. Much like an aged father nursing his son\'s first hangover, Erinhaim surveys the woman as she catches her breath. Almost immediately as it is sure she breaths, she is plunged back in the water. This happens several times.

Twisting and turning in the strong hands of Erinhaim, Aearwen struggles vainly to escape his icy plans, but to no avail. Her scream of denial is cut short as her head disappears beneath the surface of the icy cold barrel of water. Gasping and coughing as he brings her head up and plunges in back down, she barely has time to gather a fresh breath of air before the cold water rips it from her lungs.

Water plastering her auburn curls against her head and streaming down her person, soaking the bodice of her gown, Aearwen is a pitiful sight as Erinhaim continues his actions. Her angry gasps are cut short each time as he dunks her head back in the water. Coughing up the water that fills her nose and throat, her eyes close as he once again moves to cover her head with the chilly water.

[Deorwine(#19482)] A ching of metal on metal is accompanied by another, and another, almost some sort of martial melody, the chain hauberk of a man shifting on his broad torso. A knight he is to be sure, boots made for riding, and plates of armor accompanying the chain with every heavy footfall as the Rohirrim passes among the tents, hands swinging lightly at his side, ungloved at the moment, the black riding gloves instead looped through his belt. And so it is he comes upon the..scene..where a lady is being thoroughly doused. Suprise registers with the lifting of both light colored brows and then words tossed out sharply, boldy, in a voice to match his stature, \"You there, stop that and tell me what in Helm\'s name is /this/ about?\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] The tender ministrations of the heavy-handed Erinhaim are nearly finished. He pulls Aearwen from the water and lets her drip there for several seconds, eying her with the practiced eye of a veteran. Then, almost as an afterthought, he decides she needs submersion one more time. Immediately, her head is underwater, held down by the scarred arm of the old campaigner. And then, its done, she is let to rise on her own, Erinhaim\'s hand no longer bracing the back of her neck.

\"There, that should help...\" Says the large man in pleased tones. However, he is interrupted by the arrival of this Rohir before he can continue. The tall man\'s dark eyes look upon this newcomer and the thick black brows above them arch. The veteran\'s wide shoulders shrug in answer and his deep baratone rumbles gruffly, \"She needed a bath.\"

Aearwen\'s hands grip the edge of the barrel as the hand of Erinhaim is removed from the back of her neck. Coughing and spitting water from her person, she draws deeply of the fresh air as the water drips from her face and hair. Screaming out as Erinhaim moves to dunk her yet another time in this icy place, the bubbles of her scream rise to the top of the barrel as he holds her there, seemingly forever.

Weakly leaning against the barrel as her head is once again released from the watery pit, Aearwen throws up her hand at the voice that questions the actions before the water barrels, hopefully dismissing him

before word of this event spreads through camp. Wiping the plastered hair from her face and wringing some of the wetness from the curls around her shoulders, Aearwen says not a word to Erinhaim. Shivering as she is fully aware of the wetness of her condition she turns to face the tall dark man, a word of censure on her lips. However, as she turns as sees the expression on his face, peals of laughter ring out. Chuckling loudly she falls against Erinhaim, flicking her wet hair in his face.

Deorwine grunts, almost a snort, but not quite, more of a musing to himself and vambraced forarms cross over the center of his surcoat\'s blazon as the Rohir peers at the pair, the brutish man and soaking wet woman and slowly shakes his head, flaxen braids softly tossing back and forth, \"Pah, her tis no place for a bath. An unchaste display such as this is both unbecomming and insulting to any who are forced - if only in passing - to witness it. I suggest you cover the lady at once and get ye to a tent.\" he pauses and adds almost as an afterthought, \"And your name sir, rank, and the officer in whose command you are.\" his weight shifts slightly from one boot to the other, though it is not a nervous fidget, quite the opposite in fact is the case as his hard, bearded face is yet nothing but calm and matter of fact.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"The only man to whom I have reported is Denethor, Steward of Gondor, sirrah,\" says Erinhaim, \"If you wish to take it up with him, by all means do so, you shall find him if you seek Mundberg down the Great East Road and pass the Rammas.\" The tall man\'s dark eyes, twinkle merrily. He continues, \"And it was ill chance that had you wander on this happenstance... Besides, she did need a bath.\"

With that, Erinhaim unfastens his thick black cloak with its fine hem and places about Lady Aearwen\'s shoulders. Quietly, he turns toward Deorwine once more, \"However, if you do not wish to seek the Steward in his tower far away, Lady Elowyn of Rovacil is she who pays my wages currently.\"

Belahir strides from the camp, his soft boots making no sound upon the hard ground. He glances up at the morning sun but seems to take no pleasure in it. His usually smiling face is hard, and impassive. He shoots dangerous glances at all in the camp as he makes his way towards the bit of commotion his sharp ears picked up. He glances at the soaking wet woman and shakes his head in puzzlement. Walking up the Deorwine, he asks, \"What\'s going on here?\"

Aearwen laughs in embarassment as she pulls the thick black cloak of Erinhaim around her wet person. Pushing back wet hair and assuming some sense of decorum, she looks at Deorwine with cool blue eyes. \"It was ill chance that had you wander upon this scene this morning and for that, I will apologize for what you have seen. Last night, I did partake of a bit of brandy to ward off the chill of the rain and alas, I have no tolerance for alcohol of any sorts.\"

Her amused eyes cut to Erinhaim and her lips curve into a smile that tries to widen, but she obviously refrains as she says, \"Thank you kindly dear sir, I do appreciate you not allowing me to make a scene and pass out in the middle of the camp.\" Twinkling eyes flash at him as she continues, \"However, I shall offer no thanks for the bath I received as well today.\" Tilting her chin up in the air as if she had not a care in the world she says calmly, \"Shall we repair to the cooks tent and see what lovely dish of stew we are being served today?\"

Lodogran strides out of the barracks, clad in ragged clothes, his face looks stern for as much as a sixteen year\'s face can look stern. His belt is empty and in his hand he carries a shovel wich he has substituded for his sword. In his other hand he carries a large sort of bag. When he finds himself stared at he quietly bows his head in embarassement. Silently he mutters \"friggin sergeant, ... give me useless work just because I lighted a fire..\" then he bows himself to pick up a bit of waste that has been lying around and quietly dumps it in his bag. Then he heads over to the horses where he proceeds to pick up whatever was lying around there ...

Gwendolyn sits down by one of the camp fires coughing and gasping and grumbling about her damned cold.

Deorwine\'s eyes rest on Erinhaim for a long moment and suddenly his hard gaze is joined by crows feet at the corners of his eyes and the pair of thin braids in his beard are jostled as the Knight gives voice to throaty laughter. Slowly mirth subsides, the booming volume clipped short as his glacial stare fixes once more on the other man\'s face with hardly a glance toward\'s Belahir, \"Ah, whit is it? You aught be careful with that, man you\'d rather I did indeed speak with your employer than the lord Stewerd, twould make for a nasty bit of diplomacy having an envoy of my lord Theoden bring up such petty grievance to the good lord Denethor.\" the last vestiges of amusement pass, the fair haired

Knight shifting not a bit before he continues, \"I accept your appology for the affront. In the future you will keep such things appropriate, for you see it twas not just I, but others who see such. Tis enough blundering about on this errand without having such roudiness to greet the early risers. Away with ye now indeed, I would be displeased if the lady were to catch her cold in addition to the excess of drink and take healers away from those who were injured amidst worthy action.\"

Belahir mutters something about drunken women just under his breath before turning around, shaking his head. He walks slowly over to the nearest fire, which happens to be where Gwendolyn sits. The man carefully moves the longsword at his side out of his way as he crouches beside the woman and the fire. He inclines his head to her, \"Do you mind if I share in you fire this morn m\'lady? I am Belahir, son of Beleglin.\"

Erinhaim laughs, \"Aye, especially since she is one amongst the healers.\" His heavy hand pushes the volumnous hood of his cloak over Aearwen\'s head, so that the hem covers half her face. \"Trust that her Ladyship\'s dishonor may be kept in obfuscation beneath the folds of night.\"

His dark eyes follow Belahir as the man stalks off to join Gwendolyn by the fire. Chuckling darkly, the grey haired veteran shakes his head quietly, his brow perplexed. Looking on Deorwine, he bows his head, \"She will not suffer for it over much, sirrah.\"

Belahir takes the offered hand amiably and shakes it before letting it go. His face never changes however. He has the look of man facing some great tragedy without any chance of escape. He turns his gaze upon the fire and warms stares into the flames, apparently lost in thought.

[Gwendolyn(#13281)] Stands slowly and looks to Belahir \"I am sorry to leave so abruptly but there is something that I must do\" she smiles \"Perhaps we can meet again some time?\" she wraps her cloak tight about her shoulders for warmth.

Anger flashing in her blue eyes Aearwen\'s words are haughty and cold in response to the allegation of druken women, \"I beg your pardon, young man, having a few sips of fine brandy is no sign of drunkenness. Many long hours I have spent in the healing tents in the past weeks with little rest and my tolerance for alcohol is very low.\" Her chin tilts up in a defiant manner as she says, \"Erinhaim simply helped me overcome a bought of dizziness from the combination of lack of sleep, no food and a bit of brandy.\" Settling the proferred hood over her wet hair, she smiles sweetly as she glances at those gathered, \"Now, I should like some hot beverage.\", linking her arm through Erinhaim\'s she says, \"Shall we?\"

Belahir nods slightly to the woman as she rises and he speaks slowly, but as if to himself and not to her at all, \"Perhaps...\" He never looks away from the flames.

Gwendolyn shrugs and walks towards the general direction of Lodogran calling after him \"Um...Lodo?\" COUGH \"Lodogran?\"

Erinhaim bows his head in answer, \"Indeed, Lady, aye.\" He escorts her with much more ease away from the barrels than he could afford when coming to them. They make thier muddy way past the firepit and the tall man\'s slate colored eyes fall on Belahir alone by the fire.\"Soldier,\" Erinhaim says as he stops beside the lonely scout, \"Would you care

for some food?\"

Lodogran turns around abruptly watching her search for him. For a second he lets her search, just watching her, resting with his right arm on the shovel that he planted in the ground. Then he straightens himself, puts his two hands on his mound in order to form a small horn and then he cries to Gwendolyn, \"I\'m over here!\" then he waves with his right arm trying to get her attention.

[Deorwine(#19482)] One corner of Deorwine\'s mouth twitches as if to smile, but it is quickly stifled, so too is the chuckle that surely would have joined the smile. Instead he forces his expression somewhat stern, failing only a little, a tinge of mirth slipping into his words as he inclines his head to the pair, \"Ah, indeed. Nevertheless, it shant happen again, and your honor I hold on that. I wish you both a good day, and hope you make better use of it than you did the morning.\"

[Belahir(#28934)] After a moment or two, Belahir jerks, as if he just snapped out of a trance. He looks away from the fire to Erinhaim. He nods, \"Aye, m\'lord, I suppose I could use some food.\" He stands slowly and looks longingly towards the northwest but shakes his head slowly. \"Yes, some food would do me

Gwendolyn walks to Lodogran slowly, frowning and looking down at the ground \"Lodo? can I talk to you for a moment?\" wipes a tear from her eye \"In private?\"

Lodogran nods softly wondering why she ain\'t looking at him. Quickly he runs over to her and tilts up her head by her chin making her look in his eyes. \"Hey whats wrong?\" he smiles joyfully, \"I\'m the one that should bow his head, you\'re not the punished private who\'s got dungduty\" he then adds trying to joy her up a bit. Then he tries to grab her hand so he can take her a bit farther away where no one can hear them.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] Still arrested by the scout\'s demeanor, Erinhaim looks heavily on Belahir. A heartbeat follows, Aearwen still upon his arm, presumably wanting to continue on. The tall man frowns, \"I\'m no Lord, son... But I\'ll get you some food.\" Frowning, he moves on towards the cooking pots.

[Gwendolyn(#13281)] As soon as he lays his hands on her she falls to the ground on her knee\'s sobbing madly her face in her hands \"Oh Lodogran!\" her sobs coming like hiccups \"Oh Lodogran how can I do this to you now?!\" trembles \"Lodo I am so sorry but...but...but...I....I...I..\" she stammers and continues her sobs \"I don\'t think things are working out between us!\" sobs harder

Quietly moving through the camp, warmly ensconced in the warm cloak of Erinhaim, Aearwen smiles in greeting to those that are now moving around the camp. A flurry of activity as people laugh, talk and prepare to end the night of fast. Sighing deeply as the smell of the cook\'s pots fills her senses, a laugh slips out as she says, \"My stomach just growled, I do hope we have something good today.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"Aye, aye, stew with oysters... Like I told you,\" comes the answer. Erinhaim picks up two wooden bowls as he disengages from Aearwen. His sharp eyes scan the camp as they are filled by the woman manning the huge iron pot. It is then that he spies the two lovers far afield just beyond the borders of the camp. A frown takes his brow, mounting large furrows on its bronzed and hoary surface. Looking at the muddy ground, the tall man shakes his head, \"Such a strange day...\"

Lodogran just stands there, his looking blankly at her. A few tears form but he quickly surpreses them showing no pain or any sort of sorrow. He just keeps looking at her blankly, and keeps this pose for quite a while looking at her sob. Then suddenly he speaks dryly and again not showing any signs of pain, \" ... Your choice ...\" with that he jumps up, kicks the shovel that was planted firmly in the ground and leaves, not saying a word, but once that his head is turned away from Gwendolyn tears form, slowly drupping to the ground.

[Gwendolyn(#13281)] Unable to move she stays there watching after him and crying loudly \"Oh Lodo\" she yells \"How could I do this to you?!\"

Belahir also glances towards the two soon to be former lovers. He glares at the two and shakes his head. Then, suddenly, as if an idea was given to him by the Valar themselves, his face brightens and he turns to Erinhaim. \"Sir, I was wondering if you had by any chance seen Lieutenant Galordrim? I need a favor of him immediately and without any more waste of time. By the white tree, I have been a fool!\"

Aearwen\'s attention is drawn to the sound of hiccups and sobbing and is aghast to see her lady in waiting, Gwendolyn making such a scene in the middle of the camp. Excusing herself from the side of Erinhaim she quickly walks over to where the girl is and hisses at her, \"Get up from the ground and quit making a spectacle of yourself. Have you no sense of decorum young lady?\" Pulling at Gwendolyn\'s arm Aearwen continues her beratement of the young woman, \"Did I not tell you that I would release you from my services if you did not hold your position to one of dignity?\"

Lodogran doesn\'t listen, he continues walking to the camps, ignoring everything she says. How could she! That .... ach ... he tries to supress the thoughts and to barr her from his mind. But everywhere he looks he sees her, how the wind used to play with her blonde hair. And indeed he uses the word \'used\' as if she was dead. He now starts to run, fastening his pace, oh he can\'t wait to be at the barracks now.

Gwendolyn sobs still looking at lady aearwen \"WELL MAYBE I WOULD BE BETTER OFF IF I HAD NEVER COME ON THIS EXPEDITION IN THE FIRST PLACE!\" her eyes still spewing tears she runs off towards the camp and the healers tent.

Erinhaim, holding the two bowls of stew in his heavy hands, turns to face Belahir. His face left open and from his disturbed reverie. His dark eyes narrow in thought as he considers Belahir\'s question and hands him one of the steaming bowls of stew, \"Here...\" The shouting interrupts him, he glances at the source and the furrowing deepens from pensiveness to consternation.As the woman stalks off, Erinhaim shakes his head. He idly wonders what a certain Rohir would consider of this breach of decorum.

An icy mask covers the face of Lady Aearwen as Gwendolyn\'s word scream into the early morning air. She watches the departure of the young Rohirrim woman for a moment, eyes narrowing, before she turns and walks back to the cook\'s pots. Smiling a less than eager smile, she harasses the cook as he slops a dollop of stew in a bowl and pushes it her way, \"Oh how I yearn to have fresh eggs, hot tea with cream and an assortment of fresh fruit.If I never have stew again in my life, I shall not be sad.\"

Belahir accepts the stew from the man with a new look upon his face. One of determination. He eats thoughtfully and quickly, his energy suddenly returned by both the food and his thought. Glancing up at Erinhaim and says, \"Forgive me, I suppose you don\'t understand a thing that I have been saying. Well, sir, I have not seen my brother, a Guardsman who came along on this expedition, since the day of the final battle. Since we were forced to retreat so hastily I have been in great depression as he is of my blood yet I can neither fin if he is alive nor bury him if he is dead. But now I will go to Galdorim and ask permission to return to that bloody field, and search the surrounding area for any sign of him. It may be that he is injured but was lost in the battle. Perhaps I still have chance to save him. At the very least I could put his soul to rest as well as my own.\" He finishes the bowl of stew, swallowing the last

bit.

Lodogran opens the flap to the large tent of the soldierbarracks. But before entering he looks back, seeing lady Aearwen treating Gwendolyn like if she were a dog that had to be hoursetrained or a baby that still had to be pottytrained. His eyes narrow with a hiss as once more he turns around and enters the barracks.

Elowyn walks nears the cooking pots with a small basket of apples, small brick of cheese, and loaf of bread (though slightly aged). She finds a place to sit that is not as wet as most. She then brings out a small bottle of fine Dol Amroth wine and places it at her feet as she prepares a small meal for herself. She looks over to Erinhaim and nods to him. \"Good morn, Erinhaim. Care for an apple?\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] Nodding occassionally to show that he is listening, Erinhaim listens to the rapid speach pouring from the lad\'s mouth. As he finishes his one bowl of stew, the tall man hands Belahir the other, wondering if by eating the scout will slow down a bit. Then Elowyn arrives, offering an apple. Confusion reigns his features as he looks from Elowyn to Belahir to Aerwen, the newly returned. Finally, he shakes his head, dispelling the miasma that hangs about his eyes.

Bowing to Elowyn, he smiles, \"No thank you, My Lady... But Aearwen was just speaking of her longing for some fruit.\" A pause follows and the dark eyes return to Belahir, \"As for you, good lad... Your purposes are just, seek Galdorim. He is within the camp or soon shall return, though I have not seen him.\"

Belahir nods to the man before him but indicates he does not wish the other bowl with a wave of his hand. \"I thank you for the meal, it was much better than I would have had otherwise.\" With that he heads off towards the camp, his boots making the slightest of noise on the ground.