Elenriel sat staring into the fire, her lithe legs folded beneath her. A deep cut on her cheek and bruised temple were the only two signs that gave testament of the day’s battle. Yet, the haunted look in her eyes bore told the story as few words could. How many? she thought silently as she continued to stare into the flames. How many must I see die before this madness ends? A single silver tear fell from her eyes. The two that had fallen were friends of hers. She could not believe they were gone-that she had failed to save them. She looked up at her husband as he sat with them. There was hard look in Prince Legolas’s eyes that she had never seen before. He was right. Bickering would get them nowhere. But yet the question remained, how could they turn the tide? Their army was divided and their number too few. “If only there could be a way…” she mused quietly under her breath. With that Elenriel stood and walked quietly over to Meleth. Sitting beside the other maiden, she gazed at her, concern filling her eyes. "Your wounds are deep." she said softly. "Will you allow me to help you?"

Turwaithiel turned to him and said, "Battle lays ahead for any land that stands free...I fear death will find me quickly, so you will need it more than I...Farewell." She mounted Tathar but she feared also that he heard the regret in her voice for having to leave...now that her own group was gone and orcs patrolled the borders of distance lands; she knew death would take her very quick.