The wardens, few as they are, race back and forth, dedicated to carrying out the orders given to them. Elrohir knows one of them, at least, but he is well aware that his brother will not have been hauled up to one of the flets above them. So he has kept pace alongside the horsemen, alongside the lady who leapt to his brother's defense. He regards her as she speaks. His Westron is superior to her Sindarin, even if he uses it only infrequently.
"You are not lost," Elrohir assures her, or corrects, it is difficult to tell which. He speaks firmly but softly and would, even if his ribs were not battered and he were hale and whole. While the woods absorb sound, the din of this haphazard camp is enough to drown out conversation and offer some measure of privacy.
"The wood will not close around you again, not now that you have been granted entry. You have been welcomed here." It is a better explanation only because it is any explanation at all. He pauses to catch his breath, an excruciating challenge, and supplies a greeting so informal it might've even earned his grandmother's ire.
It is tradition among the rangers of the northern wilds, to greet one another by the clasping of forearms. It is a quick gesture, familiar, and fit for neither of their stations. But he is addled and, unthinking, he holds his arm out, hand open, and offers the same to her.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-06-14 11:52 pm (UTC)"You are not lost," Elrohir assures her, or corrects, it is difficult to tell which. He speaks firmly but softly and would, even if his ribs were not battered and he were hale and whole. While the woods absorb sound, the din of this haphazard camp is enough to drown out conversation and offer some measure of privacy.
"The wood will not close around you again, not now that you have been granted entry. You have been welcomed here." It is a better explanation only because it is any explanation at all. He pauses to catch his breath, an excruciating challenge, and supplies a greeting so informal it might've even earned his grandmother's ire.
It is tradition among the rangers of the northern wilds, to greet one another by the clasping of forearms. It is a quick gesture, familiar, and fit for neither of their stations. But he is addled and, unthinking, he holds his arm out, hand open, and offers the same to her.
"I am called Elrohir."