Curin closed his eyes and soaked in the unfamiliar sounds and smells of the countryside surrounding Estolad. He stood in the belly of a low-sided gulley that ran due south, netted with little gurgling brooks whose waters were little more than a tinkling sound amongst the thriving grasses. He smelt wild thyme and penny-rose crushed underfoot, and the flinty smell of cool clean air that has blown over naught but pastures and rolling hills.

The sun had not quite risen, the gray hour in which the world seems to steam up from the earth, and the air is fragrant, and far away sounds seem nearby. Overhead the haunting cry of a harrier-eagle, its voice filled with solitude, its message for an unknown ear, making the hair on Curins' neck stand on end. And there: very far away, the neigh of horses, and through the earth itself, the faint tremor of them running at liberty over the rolling downs. Guided by naught but the stars alone Curin had traveled, frustrated for a month by constant overcast of clouds. But by careful path finding and equal measures of good luck he had come into the right country.

Weary from his journey, Curin made a small fire beside a brook, choked with the tender green leaves and bright yellow blooms of water-cress. He worked steadily through the beds of cress, foraging a potful of freshwater crayfish, which he stewed with the cress and the thyme. In the mean time the sun climbed above the line of the downs, evaporating the pale silver net of dew that covered the land. The sun was good on his back. He stretched and groaned, for he had been avoiding what he must do for a long while, but the perfect opportunity had presented itself, and he could no longer avoid putting it off.

Curin put his fur cloak to one side, and pulled his clothes all off, and went down into the brook to wash them all. He scrubbed them with the thyme-twigs until the water ran clean from them. With a grimace at his own slovenliness he watched the brook turn a pale shade of brown for a time, and laid his clothes out to dry in the sun. Still naked he crouched to eat his breakfast, shelling the crayfishes with a practiced crack and twist of the hands. They had all turned from a dirty brown and blue colour, to a gorgeous scarlet, and their pale flesh was golden white. The boiling water had reduced to a browned-butter coloured stock, which Curin drank from the lip of the pot itself, for want of an ear of bread.

He looked up from the pot-edge, seeing the harrier alight within a stones throw of him. Curin held his breath slightly, for he knew that Harriers were the sacred bird of Lothlómendil and her chief servants. Unfortunately Curin had no gift of speaking to beasts, so he just called a wary hail to the bird, who stared at him with unblinking copper eyes. Strangely the bird made him conscious of his nakedness, which in turn made him laugh at himself. He scoured out his cooking pot and returned it to the cloth with which he bound his few possessions across his shoulders. In a moment even an elf would be hard pressed to tell he had ever made camp there, but for the bruising and crushing of the water-cress in the brook. His clothes had already dried and were a pleasure to don once more, scented with the wild thyme and the roving winds of outer Estolad.

He sighted a trail of smoke late that afternoon, and by nightfall had spotted the few lights of the village. Curin settled upon the overlooking hill, still warm with the afternoons long sunlight, and listened to the bright voices as they rattled over the horse-hoof packed earth. In the few trees it seemed the birds were all doing their share of merrymaking too, and as the sun settled down and the land at last grew quiet, soon there was little to be heard but the quiet chirruping of crickets, and the occasional burst of sound when the door of the Inn was opened.

Curin made his way down into the village, passing the inn, not without a longing glance, with the thought of a pint of ale in mind. But he held himself resolute, and came to the grandest of the stables. The arched doorway was graven with charms for the health and happiness of the horses, and hanging from the gable was a long delicate charm that tinkled as the wind moved its little tines. They were horses, made of some kind of metal, and they seemed to dance and gallop as the wind tossed them about. Inside the stable was a sign, with a large arrow pointing to the left reading customers lodging. Inside the comfortable dark was the snuffing, and the champing of content horses. The only light was from a vast stone hearth at each end of the stable with tall braziers of glowing charcoal. A tall bay tree was planted inside of the stable, each side of the door. Also there for good luck. Curin picked a few leaves as he passed, knowing how good bay was for the pot.

A few of the horses sensed his presence, some lifting their great muzzles above the railing of their stalls, their eyes catching what little light there was, and shining bright as moons nonetheless. There was an astounding range of breeds, from the twitchy courier-mounts, to the sleepy-natured plough-horses, tall as giants and gentle moonlight. Curin churred and cooed at them, noting the calm nature of all the beasts in the stable. He would look forward to meeting the stable-master if he was lucky enough not to have to deal with a stable-hand. His desire for a little stroll satisfied, and not wanting to be caught wandering where he was not yet welcome, Curin made back toward the pointing sign, and entered a low room with a few cots along one wall, and a good long table set against the other. He smiled gladly at the others there, unsure if they were all customers like himself, or if they were the staff.

The dark haired man looked over the plains with weary limbs and a heavy heart. At the edge of sight was the possible sign of wood-smoke, which he guessed to be in the right direction for it to be the village of Estolad, and Turokkos' stables. But he was too tired to feel any spark of hope yet. The journey out of the north had been long, and beleaguered with delays and complications, and the courage of his company wavered, then failed altogether. In the end Berindel was forced to strike out on his own, shrugging off warning of wolves, and worse, and walking steadfastly into the great green. Finding water had been no difficulty, but food had run short quickly, as great ridge lines, which appeared in none of the maps had fenced him in many times, and forced Berindel to take long detours, and to back-track more than once. Berindel knew enough about foraging to have survived, but he felt thin and drawn, and in need of a long rest as soon as he reached civilisation, if Estolad could be called that.

Still gray with dew, the green-gray grasslands looked like the ocean after it has exhausted itself with a storm. Berindel an exhausted sea-bird that has been caught by the fury.

The Stable of the Charm had drawn Berindel across the entire length of the Salquedor, and having arrived he was not disappointed. The portly stable master eyed Berindel down the length of a hooked nose, wiping his hands on a long leather apron. He had a great bushy face with ruddy cheeks, and vast hands. His name was Rochwine, second only to Turokko himself, and the Charm was his brainchild. He had studied the wild horses of Salquedor almost his entire life, and chosen which few mares and stallions, if caught out of the wild, and tamed, would be suitable for his purpose. The Charms' brood were still wild-eyed, like their forebears, but had been carefully bred and selected to be weildy and obedient, albeit with fierce loyalites. They were superb horses, and every bit as marvelous as those of the master himself, but bred for a slightly different purpose. Not the fine boned creatures of Turrokko, but sturdier, bred to endure long hardship. Berindel endured the stablemasters' dubious appraisal, for Berindel knew quite well how he appeared: his clothes had once been very handsome, in places traces of the gold thread had not worn away. His cloak was caught with a skillfully wrought brooch at his throat, though the jewels had all been pried out of it. He wore a swordsman's' belt at his hip, of lovingly tooled leather; but he no longer owned a sword, and all the belts' silver trappings had been melted down for makeshift coin. Berindel was a desperate man, he knew he even appeared so: but he needed a decent horse if he was to get his life back on track. He needed a good horse.

Berindel had spotted the mare for him within a few minutes, but was in the terribly embarrassing position of being short of coin, quite considerably. He would not bring himself to ask Rochwine for work, or to lower the price for the excellent beast. But he had looked at Rochwine with such desire and longing in his eyes that the man had perceived it. "You may take lodging in the stable here, while you find work. The board is cheap, and all we ask is that you help with the mucking out. But you can stay as long as ye like, and ye may visit the mare from time to time as long as ye tell me beforehand." Berindel had shaken the mans' hand, and paid him for a months' lodging up front, and made his way into the common room.

The lodging was plain indeed, with benches along the west wall, on which a sleeping mat might be rolled, if only Berindel owned one, and long tables along the east. At the far end, with great shutters flung open to the south, was an expansive cooking area with a goodly hearth, and plenty of firewood. Berindel was delighted with his company, a mix of young and old; and all manners of beings. There was a pretty young-one he took a particular shining to, and a clever-spoken old timer he relished the quiet hours speaking with.

Berindel positively itched to play his flute, but was reluctant, as he appeared the only one with any instrument, and he didn't want to become free entertainment. He wanted to make some honest coin. So, he was fortunate enough to win the occasional spot at the Inn, but otherwise he had to wander away somewhere private to play. He was out, doing just this, on a late evening when he spotted the keen glimmer of the suns' last rays upon the wings of a golden harrier, and far below the harrier, a man. Berindel stood in fascination as the Harrier alighted on the gabled roof of The Charm, into which the man had passed.

His curiosity piqued Berindel made his way quickly, down to the common room, arriving not long after the man, and a little short of breath. The man, well built, if a little rangy, moved about making himself familiar, and saying a few polite hellos. Berindel took a place at a table, and watched him moving about, wondering at the mystery of the harrier. The man didn't have the look of one of Lothlomendils' favoured-ones. But the bird had definitely been following him. Berindel waited eagerly for the chance to speak to him, waiting for him to settle in somewhere, and he would go right up and introduce himself.

The night had been a clear and still one, although much of it was lonely. A young woman looked around the road that she was guarding. It was kind of boring but she got much delight out of her job as a Lunar Guardian, sworn protector of the beings who thrive on the night and shadows. She saw it as her job to keep order as the worlds transferred from the day to night and back once again to the time of morning. She narrowed her eyes, a lone wolf ran through the forest as the sky grew brighter. She gave a soft yawn and shook her head; she really had to find a better job. But to her, this was the only one she could ever do; after all, to fight the shadows was to stop the pain one felt. For the darkness exalted peoples fears, their demons, every negative feature that they possessed was enhanced tenfold. She forced her mind to focus once again as her demons were banished to the fore coming night once again and she stretched on the tree branch and nodded. The forest is once again in the world of the day time to find Arella and move on o the next territory. She thought and jumped off the branch and ran into the forest.

On a lone branch yet to be touched by the sun was a black raven asleep in a makeshift nest made up of a bunch of twigs and dried grass. The raven was silent as it lay in the world of dreams still, yet to be disturbed by the moments of the day, for the sun still had yet to rise and the world was at peace. Umbra moved silently to her camp, a lean-to that gave the signs of a quick set up for a quick leave. She packed her things quickly and stroked her raven gently on its back. “Come Arella, the time for sleep is over” she said. The raven opened its eyes and ruffled its feathers and gave a welcoming caw. The sound seemed to shake the forest that still lay asleep in the frozen time between the transitions of day and night. Umbra looked at the sky, no sign of red. A beautiful day was ahead for those of the day world. She wondered what it was like to stay in that time period, when the dark shadows of the night did not exist. But each person had their place, and hers was to protect those who traveled at night from the dark dangers that hid in the shadows. The raven flexed its wings and Umbra jumped down from the branch, the raven took off to once again perform its duties as Umbra’s eye in the sky. She had yet to find a night familiar, but her senses were good enough during those times. She moved to the pass she had been guarding that night. She smiled; Estolad was not too far off from the trail, a good place to stay for the day until she found a new area. She never stayed in one place for long, a wanderer she tried to keep her distance from people because of recent happenings, hopefully no one would know about her past except for a select few who had yet to say anything out of her permission so that was fine.

She pulled her silver hood over her face and walked down the path, her weapons were hidden well under her cloak, the holy blade and shield were on her back and her dagger at her waist with her chakram were ready to be drawn at a moments notice. She listened carefully for the signs of the world to reappear. Legends passed down from the elders said that the beings of time would freeze the world in place for a full hour as the Guardian of the Sun and the Guardian of the Moon switched places for the moment, relieving the other until it was their time to once again become the watchman of the day. It is at that time the world is truly at peace. She knew of this hour many times, and had yet to find it not to be as they say it is. You could probably hear a pin drop, but those thoughts were gone as she entered Estolad. The sun had fully risen and she had found that there were no beings she knew personally, that was the best time ever to do some sightseeing and to go and run errands. Her hair had been raked through quickly and it looked neat enough, put into a ponytail she walked through the town towards the stables, a calm place to stay for a while. Her raven followed overhead when she came to the place called the Charmed. Smiling she noted the Golden Harrier, her raven had also landed, the two seemed to glance at each other before going about their own business. After a few moments Arella landed on her shoulder and went inside. Content to stay away from the harrier who watched the world around it with deadly eyes that showed it did not like the raven nearby its resting place. She looked around, currently two gentlemen were the patrons of this place alongside her, and the rest seemed to be workers and the like. She moved through the horses’ area, many bopping her, a few neighed and some just starred at the dark haired woman. Ignoring the hay eating familiars she continued to walk towards the area where the commons was, finally there she had come to find the two men as well. Arella gave a harsh caw indicating her opinion about this. Umbra held out her hand and the bird moved to it, Umbra stroked the bird and it seemed to calm down. Taking a seat by the corner window she looked out as she set her right leg on the chair across from her. Looking out the window she wondered if anyone else knew she was there, besides the select guard whom she knew and said nothing to. And if they did, would they point her out, not likely but it did set a strange tone for the moment. Pushing the past few days behind her she returned to the here and now where past ghosts do not exist. Arella moved to the chair her leg was sitting on and looked around playing the ever watchful watch-bird. Umbra wondered who the men were and why they were here, but if no one spoke to her that would be fine enough.

Curin smiled at her, as a woman entered the common-room, looking as if she hadn't slept, or had spent a hard night trying to rest in the wild. His expression was one of sympathy. For he had spent many nights, many years of nights, sleeping outside; with the wind fingering all the gaps in his clothes, and the pale dew settling upon him even as he shivered.

But it seemed to him that there was something more to this woman than perhaps was wholly revealed. The pony-tail and easy nature were practiced tools for those who were accustomed to making themselves blend in; but she sat down, wordlessly, throwing a leg on a chair opposite herself, and settled down without so much as a word to anyone. Sharp eyes surveyed the room with a glance, and the wheels of her mind, Curin imagined, could be seen turning, assessing that she was safe here, and could relax. Then it seemed that her eyes shadowed, as if with a grim memory. Curins' own face must have mirrored the shadow of sadness, for he empathized deeply with anyone whose past troubled them; he himself had his good days and the bad. He had left his home in a moment of proud wrath, and his entire youth was now invested in a wandering life with no friends and no family to show. Sometimes he wished he could fall into a deep hole, as dark as he felt, and wither there, and be done with. But then there were other days, when he had reached a goodly destination, and his stomach was still comfortable with a meal, and another meal was on the way, and he was amongst company, albeit that none of them were friends. It was a quality that was strengthening in himself, even Curin had noticed it; but he was putting himself in others' shoes more often than not nowadays, and he had found that he cared, and hoped to succor those he saw in pain, or unhappiness, if only with a carefully chosen word of greeting, or, as his mind turned to it, with a meal.

Drawing a wrapped parcel from out of his bundle Curin counted out a dozen dried leaves, which he soaked in fresh water while he brought a kettle to the boil. As the salt and smoke was drawn out of the leaves, Curin turned the last of his freshwater crayfish into the pot, and the last of his precious dried beans, and after a long simmering, the soaked leaves. Wild-harvested sorrel, whose lemony tang was the perfect compliment.

Curin took the liberty of shelling the crayfishes for the lady, and sat close to her, trying to catch her eye as he slid a bowl within her sight. It was a generous broth, with a golden sheen, and the deep-green leaves of the sorrel gently swirling within, and the crayfishes, a gorgeous pale-pink settled at the bottom with the pale beans. Curin found that he was smiling at her somewhat shyly through his deep beard, his eyebrows drawn together innocently. Now that he was closer, he was intimidated by the depth and darkness of her eyes. The raven made him uneasy, even more so than the Harrier that mysteriously followed him wherever he went.

"M'lday. I am Curin, Curin of Neiruthuan at your service." He slid the bowl a little closer, and held out a wooden spoon. "I have made a broth, freshwater crayfishes I found this morning, sorrel, and butter-beans if you please. I had plenty to spare..." He smiled again, and felt for all the world as if he was a five-year-old plucking up the courage to speak to an adult. "I have come all the way from the Taurai Woods, I've lost count of the days in honesty, that I wandered. I've come to purchase a horse." Curin dared to chatter, to see if the lady might warm to him. He sipped at his broth, and with no exaggeration, closed his eyes with relish and delight. The broth had a gorgeous smooth texture, and the sorrel had given enough of the salt and smoke flavours, and the lemony flavour had been retained. He had another sip, spilling a little of it off his lip into his beard, wiping it with a sleeve, and regretting it the moment he'd done so, realising it must make him look like a barbarian indeed. "The horses here, I heard they are the finest in all the lands." Curin ventured further, wondering if the lady, perhaps, wasn't' particularly interested in horses at all. "Your familiar lady, that's a raven is it not? Does it have a name?" He looked up at her, finding his courage at last. "For that matter, do you?

It soon became apparent that Umbra was not as ignored as she had hoped she would be. For one of the men noticed her as she walked inside the stable commons area, the man seemed to be some sort of adventurer, a ranger perhaps or something similar but Umbra was not certain at this point in the realities of who the man was. But he definitely seemed to sympathize with her, at least expression wise he seemed to carry a familiar thought or two about sleeping out in the wild. She looked off into the window as Arella paced for a few moments on the chair trying to keep a watch out for any dangers while still maintaining the low profile Umbra had come to know. The man who caught her coming in continued to watch for her but Umbra paid him no mind. The man was only watching around him as was she and he was keeping to himself at the moment so she would not harbor any distrust or threats at the moment. For now she was content to keep to herself and wait until night came once more for her to start her duties as a Lunar Guardian.

Returning with her thoughts to the outside world of Estolad she looked out the window as the man began to take something out. Ignoring him for the time being she laid her head on the glass pane and watched as the world went by, traders from different areas decided that they could set up shop here and Umbra watched them as they bartered and called to the people passing by shouting out their wears to sell. Many of the merchants had food and other traveling supplies, others had weapons and armors, still others had the rare potions and such to give to those who would take them and others had scrolls for spells to those who would pay the high price for them. Suddenly an aroma filled the room; she glanced at the man who was near the fireplace bent over a pot. ‘So you’re cooking some breakfast. Nice to see a few people around here know how to cook.’ She thought as she looked out the window. Some children ran by on their way to the local park to play. There was a famous oak tree nearby that the children believed Faeries lived in. To them that tree was special, their own world to guard and protect as their parents do.

The man had continued to work on his breakfast as she wondered if she still had that bread, but it was out on the camp she had made for her next night of no sleep and working to protect travelers at night. The smell was starting to get to her but she did not give in, she would just go hungry until there was a good time to leave and she could buy some food for the bird and herself. Wondering how long that would be she looked out the window again as Arella watched the world around them. Umbra always took it as a strange thought that her raven was named after her mother, a person who died looking out for her. She wished she could have said the same for her father, but who in these days could? She wondered what it was like for him right now. She was in a room with a roof over her head surrounded by animals, but safe. Where are you Rumasak? Are you somewhere alone nursing a wound or are you in a tavern waking up to the dawn that I have made possible? Where are you right now? Chasing some far off dream of growing stronger through the curse mark? If you are...I could see your death coming swift my friend. She thought as she heard someone walking towards her.

Arella gave a caw as the man approached her carefully, she did not really look at him yet but only sighed inwardly. “Arella...Knock it off.” She said as she heard something hit the table and be slid. Glancing over to the man she had saw cooking she noticed that he had been cooking for her. How embarrassing...to have someone cooking for her without her asking him or being wounded. But humans were different than half demons who really only helped unless it was necessary, to them they may have thought that any reason is a good reason to help someone. "M'lday. I am Curin, Curin of Neiruthuan at your service." He said passing the bowl of broth and crayfish to her a little closer and put down a spoon as well. She looked up at him still leaning in her position while Arella looked at the food then at her and then at him and returned its gaze to Umbra as if to ask if to ask her opinion and commands. "I have made a broth, freshwater crayfishes I found this morning, sorrel, and butter-beans if you please. I had plenty to spare..." he said. She smiled in thanks and shifted so she was facing him directly as she listened to him talk, "I have come all the way from the Taurai Woods, I've lost count of the days in honesty that I wandered. I've come to purchase a horse. The horses here, I heard they are the finest in all the lands." He said sipping at his broth. She nodded. “They do. A good friend of mine helps out here once in a while. She is probably training right now.” She said as the man looked at Arella "Your familiar lady, that's a raven is it not? Does it have a name? For that matter, do you?” he asked. Umbra nodded. “Yes, my watch-bird is a raven. Her name is Arella, after my mother. And I have a name...I am Umbra.” She said as she looked at Curin questioningly as if he thought she was not with a name. If he wanted it he could have asked like a normal person would instead of trying to show off and act all tough or something.

“Yes, my watch-bird is a raven. Her name is Arella, after my mother. And I have a name...I am Umbra.”

Curin dropped his eyes down to his bowl of broth, for he perceived something in his tone had been misinterpreted. He mused to himself that perhaps he was being too forthright. Something of a shadow fell between himself and Umbra, that perhaps he might have come across arrogant, or swaggering, despite his intent had been to be warm, and welcoming. This was a true warrior, he deemed. One who was accustomed, and perhaps even enjoyed, her solitude. He resolved the change his tack, to back off a bit. Perhaps even bringing a meal, unasked for, was an affront to Umbras' dignity and pride. He hoped not.

One of the other lodgers gave Curin an asking nod, if he might dip into the stock-pot for more. Curin nodded willingly, and motioned with his hands for all to make themselves welcome. He could march for three days on a single meal, and yet in the last day he had eaten two very hearty ones. He was more than content, and happy as he ever felt. Perhaps explaining his willingness and desire for talk.

He stirred his broth, contemplating how to regain a comfortable flow to the conversation. "Arella. That's a proud name. Where I come from it would mean Daughter-of-Kings. A proud name." Curin smiled ingratiatingly, trying his best to soften his tone, to make his speech more gentle. "You have a friend here? I have not been here even long enough to consider proper lodging. When I am able I hope to find an introduction with the stable-master. I am not luck enough for him to be said friend am I?"