Ferawyn twirled the arrow shaft between her thumb and forefinger, studying it carefully. Her eyes narrowed in an attempt to discern what secrets it held. She had found the arrow sat, rather curiously, upon the outer sill of one of the windows at the Warhorse Inn. Her last visit to the Inn had left her with more than a few unanswered questions. Now, with the arrow in hand, or what remained of it, as only the tail end had been left behind, she was still not any closer to finding the answers she sought. Despite it's broken state, it was good fortune that she had at least this to work with. A lot could be learnt from the fletching of an arrow, and the study of this one had proved fruitful. She had taken the arrow to a number of fletchers around Bree, who had told her that the feathers were of no local birds they knew. But it was the keen eye of her kinsman, Irwfrith, who had caught her studying the object and managed to place its origin. The feathers were that of a very common hawk, but only common to the lands of East Rohan.
She tapped the arrow idly against her knee, reclining in her chair as she thought back to the events of her last visit. Perhaps there was some detail she might have overlooked that might prove to be of some significance. The news of the fire had come as quite a shock, and Fera had wracked her thoughts in the hope that they may hold important information, no matter how trivial it may have seemed at the time. One thing that did stand out, however, was the presence of that rough looking man.
In recalling him, it struck Ferawyn that his style of dress was not that of a local, but was actually Rohirric in patterns and material. The outfit was that of a working-class man, but had a decidedly Eastemnet cut, to it. And while she only saw him in passing, she noted how incredibly standoffish and silent he'd been, where often the Rohirrim in these lands would have been more than eager to speak to another from their home. Instead, he kept to himself, scowling, his hand resting tensely on the sword at his side. In fact, now that she was recalling these details, Ferawyn remembered seeing a similarly cryptic figure creeping outside the tavern's windows on another night. Could this have been the same man?
With this new possibility fresh in her mind, Ferawyn rose out of her seat. Arrow in hand, she drew on her hood and shawl, and stepped out into the grey, drizzly morning. She still had far more questions than answers, but she would not ponder them alone. Perhaps the input of others could help bring them closer to a conclusion, and with that thought she made her way towards the great hall.
