The council in Glan Vraig after the two days of intense fights that pushed back the enemy far towards the Steps of Gram gathered in the usual war-born mix of sadness,for the losses, relief, for it ended for now, and hopeful joy, for the day was won. The forward fortresses were manned better than before, new secretive sentinel locations were being decided to keep an ever watchful eye on the movements of the enemy and reports towards the Lord of Imladris first and other leaders respected by their peoples were being written. The current situation described, the dangers analyzed and fresh fighters asked for, if some were willing and inclined.
Among those gathered in groups, sharing food, drink and news, Ruthion looks for those he knows, moving from a group to the other, ever more intrigued. This time fate was kind and he has no friends to mourn. Probably! He notices at some point Tolmen in one of the groups and asks him “Ayia! You know where is Turuviel, I see her nowhere! She remained among the force keeping the mine?” The elf frowns “No, she did not. I did not see her when we left.” Ruthion pauses before asking again “Did she.. fall?” The other shake his head “No.. we had no losses. The patrols set after would have found her body. But I saw her in none of the clashes that happened inside the mine.” Ruthion asks again, this time a note of annoyment in his voice “And then where did she vanish? No one noticed?? When was she last with you?!”
She was then among the last in the group, the furthest on the left on their improvised rearguard line, and everything was going smooth. It seemed that the enemy either retreated or was expecting them behind fortified positions deeper within the mine. Unleashing their anger on their lair being disturbed, a couple of smaller drakes charged foolishly in such disadvantageous terrain for them as tunnels, finding swift death under the arrows and axes of the front line. Apart from them not even the noise of weapons made ready could be hear, yet suddenly in the darkness she could feel a presence. Not a sound, not even that of breath, nothing she could see in the deep dark but still.. palpable real. She felt that, if she took some more steps she could touch it, the hidden presence that was watching them. She looked to her right and the bowman next to her seemed to notice nothing, his attention fully in front of the. Knowing fully this was not the best action to take, she strayed from the group into the corridor opening on her left side, intrigued to test if the presence she perceived was real. She moved stealthy and carefully her eyes getting more used to the deep darkness and the light of the torches behind remained faded like a memory. She took a deep breath trying to guess any familiar scent but the stronger smells specific to the tunnels barred any other: stone, wet walls, moss, dead prey of the drakes, somewhere further, filth, oxide.. She walked further following the wall, bow at the ready, attention as stretched out as its chord. Suddenly, as the corridor made a big turn she saw him, far already nearing another turn of the tunnel: a dark shape moving away stealthy and fast. The shape seemed to feel her getting closer as well for it turned towards her for just an instant, as to make sure she was indeed there, one eye that seemed red reflecting the almost nonexistent light of the tunnel. She recognized the warg in her visions, the one called Death, and she felt both an urge to end him and a shiver of fear of this strangely familiar presence. The warg was in no mood to wait for her arrow though and he rushed beyond the next turning of the corridor , out of her line of sight. It was madness to follow, alone, in the corridor that she knew it should lead far in the west, opening far towards the Steps of Gram, but then again the entrance should be under the guarding of the two elves sent to wait for eventual emissaries sent to ask for help. She could hunt the one eyed warg towards that exit and some arrows would find him, her own or those of the outside hidden guards.
