(And exactly one year to the day, I'm back. This honestly can't be coincidence. Actually, it's quite remarkable, because it is.

Anyway, is anyone interested in continuing this? I'm up for it if you are.)

(I'll continue with the main story, if anyone wants to join or come back, feel free!)

Arandur grimaced, knowing he would get nothing helpful out of her...Yet.
"No," he said, in answer to her mocking question. She looked slightly surprised, for she had expected him to demand to know.

"Instead," he said coolly, "you are going back to your tent, with a guard this time." He made a disgusted sound, "I don't have to chase spies down every time I turn around."
Summoning one of the night watchmen, Arandur quietly gave him instructions about the prisoner and turned her over to him. As they left, he wearily returned to his tent and bed.

**************

The steel-gray light of false dawn the next morning heard the bugle call of the Company, signaling breaking camp. With the order and efficiency of long standing routine, tents were struck and pack horses loaded for the day's march.
They would strike north, keeping to the original plan of investigating the ruins of Fornost Erain, and, if possible, setting up a permanent outpost in them. From there they would attempt to clear the North Downs and surrounding wilds of orcs and the other, darker terrors of that wasted land.

The Goblin ambush of the previous day had seen to many casualties - at least fifteen Gondorians dead and three times that number wounded. He was not going to let that happen again, Arandur thought grimly. As the column was formed, he placed the most heavily armored spear and pikemen on the flanks, with swordsman backing them. In the protected center would march the archers, pack animals, and wagons carrying supplies and the more severely wounded. The few cavelry his company had were sent out as scouts.

At a bugle call, the column moved out, the rhythmic pounding of hundreds of mailed feet accompanied by their marching chant.

(I would love to continue, and I'm sure Deawen would also as long as her computer behaves.)

Maenel had the tent packed to the sides of the wagon within a few minutes of the bugle call and loaded her chests under her seat in the wagon. She tried to leave as much room for the wounded in her wagon in possible. Though she was in the most protected part of the column, she felt vulnerable in the open wagon. She had taken one of the dead men's horses and harnessed it to the wagon to carry the extra weight of the sorely wounded men. After a few moments, she slipped off the the seat and lead the horses on foot, keeping an eye out for any remnants, however trampled, to restock her supplies for what she felt would be a sanguine day.

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

(Awesome! =D )

Arandur rode alertly at the head of the column, keen green eyes searching the terrain ahead for any sign of danger. Even though he doubted another attack would be made so soon after one of the previous say, orc attacks weren't the only thing to be feared or considered in this wild. Food was another matter that had to be taken care of. Hunters had been sent out early in the morning, and would rendezvous with the main body when they camped that evening.

Seeing all was clear for the present, Arandur dropped back to check on wounded in the wagons. He recognized one of the healers leading a wagon on foot and pulled in beside her. Noting her watchful eye on the ground, he said courteously,
"If it is herbs you look for, I can get someone to relieve you of the wagon so you can go farther afield in your search."

Maenel looked up, a surprised look on her face. "Yes, that would be helpful. The soldier's feet have mushed anything useful too deep into the dust." She stopped the draft horses and pulled her satchel off of the bench seat. "I'm not familiar with this terrain. Where would you suggest I search?"

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

"West," he said, pointing in the direction of the Weather Hills, blue in the distance.
"There is a wood not far from here, bordered by salt marshes. There should be a good verity."
Then, glancing at the darkening sky he added, "You will want to keep an eye on them," He indicated the purple clouds with a nod of his head. "Fog is likely to set in after the rain, and you don't want to be caught in it."

"Thankyou. I will be off," she said promptly. She made sure to grab her cloak off of the seat and decided to borrow one of the extra horses. Within 15 minutes, she was off towards the wood. Just in case, she carried a bow, flint, and steel for striking. She took off at a canter to the West.

When she reached the woods, the green was her only comfort. She felt desolately alone. A good, thing, in all truth, she thought to herself. Better that than the feeling of being watched. She dismounted and scanned the forest floor around her. She saw a clump of tall anise flowers for digestive problems. All around the area useful plants grew well. A goldmine, she thought to herself. False indigo, lobelia, osha, milk thistle, lavender, woad, thyme, and many others things could be found nearby. She set to work hastily stuffing her bag as full as she could, and kicking herself for bringing just one bag.

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Arandur kept an eye on the clouds, gaging their progress. He did not wish to stop the march if it would soon blow over, but then shook his head regretfully; Once it settled in, it could take days to let up.

His mood was pensive. Command was heavy on his shoulders, and he missed the roaming freedom of abandoned heaths and wild, stony moorland. Of dark woods and mysterious barrows, and moldering, stone littered ruins. Even the weather. The last few weeks had been uncommonly sunny and mild; ideal for the kind of excursion he was now leading. It appeared however, that it was not going to retaliate.

His thoughts wandered again, thinking of his time spent with the Elves and at Minas Tirith.
He was brought abruptly back by the spattering of large drops that began to fall. Glancing around he caught sight of a scout returning.
"Sir, the way leads around the edge of a swamp, but on the other side there looks to be a suitable place to camp."
Arandur nodded acknowledgment,
"Very good."
Turning in the saddle he shouted, "We make camp soon!"
He sat his horse to one side to let the column march past, so that he could take up the rear.

(oh i loved this rp yes my internet is famed for being primitive and slow)
Deawen was tied and led along by a horsemen, the soldier was covered in dust and spattered with a few leaves for an added touch, he was irritable and annoyed by his ward who insisted that she protest everything. The soldier had spent nearly five minutes trying to tie her hands she had given him a few nasty words and a few bite marks. Once tied and strung along she walked only a few steps before halting and then dashing under the the horse nearly spooking the beast but still managed to sabotage that saddle. When Arandur rode by Deawen scowled.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Maenel tucked her bag safely in front of her and made her way carefully out of the wood. The rain was coming down enough to obscure the horizon and make it difficult to see where she had come from. She pointed her unhappy mount in the right direction and spurred him to a swift trot. She had never been taught to ride properly, making any prolonged journeys on horseback uncomfortable. The rain just sweetened the deal. She pulled her hood over her face and gritted her teeth, determined not to complain, aloud or mentally.

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

(*Pokes with stick* Oh, God, I think I killed another one. Where is everyone? The only person who I'm sure of their where-abouts is Deawen, and her internet isn't working properly. Please, come back!)

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

(Mybad, been 'busy' with other stuff. Can't even blame it on my internets, either. )

Arandur sat, listening almost idly to the rain that pattered the canvas of his tent.
The tent was a concession really; he would rarely, if ever, use one if he were alone. But he knew the soldiers liked the solid sign of authority that a commander's tent offered. It gave them (strangely, to Arandur's loner mind) a feeling of security.

He got up suddenly; it was to much. He couldn't stand being bottled up in the stuffy confines of the tent. In the next moment he remembered the healer who had gone off to gather herbs. She wasn't back. Abruptly he's actions had focus. He grabbed his sword, crisply strapping it on over his leather jerkin, and snatched his cloak up as he pushed through the flap and out into the drizzle. He forwent taking his horse; it would only slow him down in this weather, and add the risk of breaking a leg.

He started off back the way they had come, but soon cut directly through the marsh to save precious time. He hadn't realized how big it was, or how far they had traveled since leaving the healer (what was her name? Maenel, that was it). He shook his head irritably. Was he losing his mind? It wasn't like him to forget anyone, or to daydream like it appeared he had.
Dampness slowly began to penetrate his leggings as he slogged through the knee-deep marsh and muck. Pulling his hood down against a chill wind, he kept on.

( I'm Deawen, and I'm not a healer...trust me)
Deawen lay on the low cot in her tent, her head hanging over the side causing her hair to fall in a cascade of coppery waves. her eyes scanned the tent and a finger twitched at her side. She was needed to get out of this cursed camp. Deawen sighed from boredom, she heard someone walk by, it was Arandur Deawen sighed again as she tumbled off the cot and watched him go by.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(Oops. Fixed.)

By this time, Maenel was freezing, her cloak soaked and her mount tired. She had lost all sense of direction and simply made her way. She shivered, bringing back horrible memories. Icy cold rain, darkening clouds, her dead betrothed dead and cold before her hands, beautiful face bloody...Hot tears mixed with the cold drops. She stopped the horse and let herelf succumb to the memory, letting it paralyze her.

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Deawen watched Arandur for a moment, then spoke. " Hmm going off into the marsh alone is daring I must say even for a southerner..." her voice was mixed with sarcasim and truth. " Though I never really thought gondorians had that much courage hiding behind their thick walls." she sighed dramatically. " You most likely don't even know the marshes like a native do you?"

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home