Winter threatens the lands in a blanket of clouds to hide the stars. There is a chill to the night, as can be seen in the visible breath of any who pass in the Bruinen's mists. The muddy ground is moist when steps draw near to the water's edge, but each blade of grass further up the slope bears the sparkle of a light frost. Winter cannot be denied in these, the outer lands of the Master's realm.

From out of the cover of pine trees to the west, a modest procession of figures appear - most are cloaked, some are armed, and nearly all bear burdens of wicker baskets and satchels. At their fore is the Miruvorthaer Eryndae, garbed in the silvered greens of season's passing in winter's wake. While many of those around her seek the sides of their path with curious eyes, hers remain trained on the lands before her, soon to be tread by the feet of those in her company. "We are nearly at the Fords," she calls quietly over her shoulder.

The voice of Eryndae goes far behind in its low tone, reaching the ears of the elisthir Olathlinn that almost close the walk. She seems fond to do it as if her presence at the tail can offer some guaranty. The glindis still bear her things and the stuffs of other as well. Her breathing is deep in regular and hope is draw in her face, hearing that the destination is near to be reaches.
A light footed elleth, Maegiaracha, is among those filling the middle ranks. Her burden is light, her lips relaxed, and her voice silent. Her eyes pierce onward at fog and tree, gazing avidly here and there, always with something new to perceive.

On the edge of the company walks an elleth whose grey cloak merges with the mists rising up over the Bruinen. Its hood is up, drawn back only enough that a few chestnut strands can be seen along the rim of the elleth's face. Tatharwen walks with subtle but confident steps, and her boots of soft brown leather make little noise upon the forest path. In the dim light of stars and their few torches, her expression can be seen to be serene, and she gives a slight nod at Eryndae's words. A pack is strung to her back, and in front hangs a smaller satchel of dark grey material.

Caution has served the Silmaethor well in centuries past, and is certainly not to be sacrificed in their approach of the valley's border. Thus does she proceed more slowly now, steps slow in their purpose as they now tread over damper grounds.

Yet when Eryndae's feet at last fall still, and she turns to regard those behind he, silvered eyes are relaxed, speaking naught of any degree of danger. "Alas, are all accounted for? We shall begin our foraging on the western shores." This she proclaims as a slender hand indicates the lands surrounding. But argent eyes drift last to the eastern shores, lingering longer there for a longer moment.

Tatharwen turns to survey the path behind and those gathered to her left, searching the figures in the dim light to see that all are there. She has up to now spoke but little to the company apart from friendly greetings and talk of the necessary arrangements. Yet as she notices no one missing, she says as much quietly to Eryndae. Stepping closer to the Silmaethor, she follows that lady's gaze eastward.

Olathlinn almost walk in the edhel in front of her when the marche slow. She ups her chin. Her face is reddish and despite the cold air around, she is sweating.She heard the word, but does not clearly understand the meaning.She gets one of her extra bag that she carries by generousity of her back and sit on it. She takes a waterskin and drinks a lot from it.
Maegiaracha slowly slips from her quiet surroundings, those of the company. Silently she lets herself fall a bit more to the rear, though clearly not standing out from any other in this group of fair Elven forms. Her step remains consistent with those around her, timed evenly and moderated consciously.

In its return to the quendi, Eryndae's gaze remains largely peaceful. To Tatharwen she breathes a quiet aside before unslinging her pack. "By the look of it, there is less to be found on our shore than I had hoped." Stooping close to the ground, she retrieves a basket from the topmost contents of her pack, and rises again, drifting a step back and further into the gathering. "There are roots, berries, and fallen bark to be found, at the bases of trees of the shore and plains. Have a care for your step in the dark, and be wary of straying too far!" A nod and whispered words bid the Tirith escort to remain in place as a reference point. They stand tall and still, in line with the path upon the slope to the river.

Tatharwen's eyes turn from the shore and make a circuit of the surroundings as she searches for a likely direction in which to move. Hands gloved in soft leather like to her boots, reach into her cloak for a small knife, its slender blade just the right size for trimming bark and even rooting out bulbs from the ground. She turns to a nearby Tellenistron and says quietly, "Would you come with me? I have some particular things I'm looking for and could use your help in pointing them out. I more often see them already harvested than when they're in the wild." At the other's nod, she chooses a direction and ranges out carefully into the forest to the left of the direction they all came in.

Maegiaracha soon finds herself meandering thoughtfully after two others. Misty crisp wafts of air swirl up from the steps of those she follows and combs her face in a pleasant and peaceful glow. She shifts her light burden, perhaps not to be light for much longer. A quick glance around signifies that this trio is not the only individuals beginning to drift to interesting locations.
Smoke pours from Mt. Doom as the Dark One's evil sorcery lags the game.
The smoke clears as good triumphs and the database saves.

The elisthir gets all the bags of her back, slowly, she removes her cloak. Her light brown suede suit darken than previous. She fetch the little parchement in her bag and begin to tear little hole to pass a thread and make tag from it. She put them on a branches, at everyone hand. Soon she gets quite amount of them, she search for a basket and takes a direction to gather something too.

"...hawthorn...elderbush..." Tatharwen's voice, quiet though it may be, returns back to those who may still be on the path as she seems to be reciting to the Tellenistron her list of desired bark and roots.

Eryndae too begins a careful search of the grove of trees to the north. Pale hands press gently flat against the bark of an oak, feeling for loose spots even as aged eyes search the darkness for growth of unusual color at at the tree's base. The second or third tree yields a small bush of winter berries in its shadow. With palms and fingers worn by millennia of work, Eryndae easily separates a few fruit-bearing stalks from the withering bush, leaving her search long enough to find Maegiaracha in the night. "What say you, Bathril?" she asks, extending her find in careful grasp. "What hue shall this beget, if steeped in the right grade of apple cider vinegar?"

The quiet conversation of the Tellenistron and the Idherveld continues, weaving back and forth as if they range further and then return towards the path. Tatharwen emerges then and has in one hand a few branches of berries, in the other her knife still poised. Depositing the berries into one of the larger baskets of the company, she then steps back into the forest, her cloak blending in the shadows such that among the trees the movement could be mistaken (by lesser senses than that of Quendi) for a rustle of breeze. It is no breeze, however, as Tatharwen's voice emerges again. "If you can find me some eleuthero, mellon, I shall have Iluial crown you king of foresters." The voice of the Idherveld still soft, it sparkles also with cheer.

Olathlinn is attrackted by some Cattail near the water. She knows how usefull that plant can be, altough she does not know to what. She begin collecting them, feet planted in the mud.

Maegiaracha drifts without thought for several moments, often peering up at the stars, but it isn't long before her thoughts change, for one inquires of her. With eyes set upon Eryndae, her lips readily bringing light to a pleasant smile, she gazes forth at what she is inclined to look upon. Her head turns, softly and in thought. Though it is hard to discern at this hour, I'm positive it would bring a pleasant hue of gray morning sky lit with tender caresses of blue, though perhaps I shall be proved wrong."

Her basket is soon full and the elisthir, concentrated on what she is doing to get not only the head of the plant, but all till the root. Choising the right one, leaving some.Olathlinn, as always, can restrain her to sign, but she not doing it in the full range of her voice, song leave her lips like if they were from a wild bird.

A light rustle drifts upon the reigning winds -- their breath to grow so cold and chill of late. The noise does not fade, enhanced to an audible breath to stir the leaves of waning tree and bush. Slowly life withers, drained from the lands, seeds kindled in secret holds, so that when Winter fades to Spring, all fairness returns to the land.

Some elude this vicious cycle of the seasons. These lives do not end to flourish in the new year... Shivering by its grace, a doe steps from the coverage. Her gait is careless and swift, intent to still her thirst... until she remarks of the elven beings.

"Hmmm. Not quite what I would have hoped," the Miruvorthaer muses, a frown threatening her brow as she studies the berries once more. Tucking them carefully beneath the evergreen drape that covers her basket's contents, Eryndae turns toward the trees once more. But before disappearing into their winter-bare grove, she dares a raised voice to call to the others. "I will see to it that anyone to find a suitable scarlet pigment shall be clothed in fine linens and offered fine wines throughout the winter," she proclaims, earning a chuckle from the otherwise stoic Maethori who still stand in their place as landmarks.

The Tellenistron first notices the other being who has emerged in their midst, no doubt, for his words to Tatharwen fall still. She responds in kind without question, for such vigilance is necessary here on the border lands of Imladris. Yet seeing his manner not alarmed, she instead follows him back out to the path and looking over his shoulder, gives a small sigh of delight at the unexpected 'company.'

Maegiaracha watches the turning Eryndae with pleasant enjoyment. Slowly slips over to a slender tree, and running her hand along its bark finds a slight notch were a lip begins to peeled away. A knife swish startles her, though stays clear from her fingers. "You didn't expect to cut it with your hands, did you?" comes the voice. She turns in realization that she is no longer alone. A smile brightens her eyes and she takes it to her basket with a slight whisper in response.

Her steps toward the trees bring Eryndae into the path of the doe to approach so timidly. This stills both her steps and her voice as she regards the creature with a thoughtful smile. "I do hope we rob you not of your food," she murmurs softly, plucking a few of the berries from the stem to extend in her palm as a test.

The doe eyes the elven woman oddly. She blinks, eyes a coral hue. Lightly she shivers, nervous by the presence of these others, nigh her drinking grounds. In defence the animal poises her gracious legs, apt to rush back into the safety of the woods...

Although the berries are appealing, so generously offered. In doubt the doe takes a tentative step forward, tilting her head from the open palm to the elven features.

Hurring to empty her basket in a bag, Olathlinn takes one of the tag she has prepared hanging on a branch. She search for her quill and bottle of ink. She then wrote:"Cattail-Whole" on the tag and fix it on the bag containing the plant gathered. She looks around, but is she really since she notice nothing unusual despite the natural friend lurking around.

Tatharwen takes a step closer, coming to the side of the tracker as they both watch the delicate 'negotiation' between Eryndae and the gentle creature.

"Strawberry!" Exclaim Olathlinn crouching. Of course, she might called all red berry like that except if that is really looking like a Stawberry or a cherry. THe greedy elleth is tempted to taste some, but she is hesitating and just gather them for the moment.But it is very tempting for her and she looks at each berry thrice before bringning them in the basket, instead of her mouth.

Eryndae holds her hand perfectly still, slender frame all but statuesque in its stance before the doe. Fingers flex back only a little, thus lifting her palm to the deer's mouth. Meanwhile, she dares an aside to Olathlinn, at the risk of startling the visitor to their company. "Mellon, are you certain? It is beyond late for the sweeter fruits to grow. You did not eat any, did you? I imagine any wintering fruit to taste foul by the tongue of the Eldar." A discerning glance to the Elisthir before Tatharwen and the Tellenistron are afforded a fleeting smile in their approach. But Eryndae's eyes remain longest with the doe, waiting to see if she will take the fruit.

Maegiaracha grasps things now and then, adding them to her pack, though it is not infrequent that she finds herself easily distracted. It is in this moment that her eye catches a soft glimmer of another and all processions of her own halt. With graceful stealth this figure moves about with an avid pace, gathering many an item into the basket held. It is in this pursuit of her eyes that causes her to notice she is once again waisting good time, though she seemingly enjoying the soft fleeting moments. Up she rises from her crouch and again drifts to gather root and berry.

Raised with shyness this is quite the predicament for the lovely doe. She is still so young... yet Fading has been harsh on her, which shows by the dimness of her fur and the anxious gleam in her eye as she gazes upon the profferred berries.

A hesitant step she comes closer, peering up almost pleadingly. And then her cold nose caresses the open palm of the elven woman.

When Eryndae ask her question, the little red fruit was already in her mouth.She spit it."Well, euh, no...I didnt yet...but may..." As she turn her head, she realize that the vitner is busy, but she does not realise to whom or what she is tending fruit.She silent, her hand still gathering the berries.

Silence and anticipation are the best gifts a watcher could give to such a scene, and Tatharwen gives them both, tilting her head to watch as the doe wavers in temptation. Her own knife held loose at her side, for the moment Tatharwen's gathering is forgotten.

The Miruvorthaer's smile remains the unspoken voice to her satisfaction once the doe finally opts at length to claim the fruit. Just as her challenge is accepted, so is Eryndae's, as she slowly lifts her opposite hand from resting at her side. It hovers timidly to the right of the deer's head, approach slowed to an agonizing pace requiring the utmost patience. Her words to Olathlinn, and Maegiaracha as well, are now whispered. "Regardless of their suitability as a snack, would these new finds of the Elisthir's produced a fair red hue?"

Yet, despite her innocence, this beast is still untamed. The hand to reach for a touch, brings her fright. A shiver shakes her gracious limbs, and startled the doe leaps backwards. Alerted she watches the other being from this newly obtained safe distance.

Maegiaracha soon finds herself quite a distance from the group with only a few others in view. A quick and anxious look around brings fear to her eyes. Thoughts of the Miruvorthaer's words bring the following of gradual leaps and bounds until she is once again nigh and visible to the guard. A light breathe escapes her lips with a charming curl that licks the air amidst floating dew. A gaze she does catch from one of them as she halts, and the warning charges to her perception, though regret is not within her heart, for a pleasant number of hues she now has gathered.

A moment passes, her thoughts are caught by words anew. And so her movements move to accompany the Elisthir, "I shall find out," slips her simple reply.

Glasiel smiles again at the doe, and goes back to her intensive search for ... whatever it is she seeks. Her cloak is gathered close around her, the better to shield her from the cold.

The elisthir turns her attention back to her task. She relaise that if she do not want to freeze, she must keep moving.At Maegi approaches, she nods and give her one fruit, while she continues to gather more."This bush have so much of it, I wonder why no bird eat them?"

The pair stopped upon the path laugh softly as doe seems less charmed by Eryndae than vice versa. Tatharwen glances up at the advancing light through the canopy of bare branches, and pulling back her hood, with the forester once again gives her attention to their work. "What do you think of the chances of finding wormwood...?" she inquires as they slip between the trees once again.

"Perhaps," produces Maegiaracha's lungs with a soft wisp of releasing air, "Though scarlet may not be of their coloring, it may be of a darker hue, perhaps almost mahogany in coloring." The berry is softly crushed in her hand and yielding from it births a splendid darkish color. "Perhaps I was mistaken . . . yes, I was." A quick glance looks up to see if anyone is paying attention, "Olathlinn, it looks like you've found us a deep red, perhaps not the color our Miruvorthaer is looking for, but indeed a wonderful color, and hard to discern it's depth in the night, we shall see. Here help me gather some more."

Olathlinn nods and obey, but whisper.:"Can I eat some?"

Glasiel still searches for the object of her quest, but at the words 'red' and 'berry', she looks over to Maegiaracha and Olathlinn. "How big are those berries," she asks, somewhat urgently in tone.

An audible sigh slips past the lady's lips, likewise rising and falling in her sage-clad chest as the deer slips back from her hand. Thus is the remaining offering left plainly in sight on a bare patch of ground. Eryndae stands and steps slowly backward, then turning to survey the quendi with a sweeping gaze over the area. Laughter not unnoted, she seeks last its origin, and finds Tatharwen and her companion just as they step behind the trunks of the western trees. Thin lips purse in a moment of thought ere she lends her attention to Glasiel, Maegiaracha, and Olathlinn, an eyebrow raised.

Maegiaracha smiles at this request, "I know not much of berries, and perhaps you should then heed the voice of the Miruvorthaer. She would know much about that, much more than I." A timid smile quirks her cheek as she takes a few berries from Olathlinn's hand. "Thank you." So for a few moments silence illuminates from her, as berry after berry are plucked from the bush.

The Bathril silently turns to this new inquiry, "Oh about . . . " she starts, gazing at the berry as if not remembering, "Smaller than a grape, but larger than . . . than a . . . fingernail." A smile flashes as a few more berries dump into her pack.

THe elisthir resume her signing, soft and clear as a robin song.Olathlinn gathers and gathers trying to forget the urge to put some of the result on her mouth.

The doe returns at the departure of the elven woman. What was left is gratefully consumed. Yet then the animal flees back to the dense forests, away from such acitivity to make her restless.

Olathlinn says, "The bush is almost empty, should we left some?""

"I doubt we needed as many as we gathered," Meagiaracha responds with a hiccup of laughter. "Perhaps we shall move elsewhere?" she suggests after a moment.

Tatharwen steps onto the path nearer to the shore, her arms now full of gatherings and the cloth satchel at her front also not as thin as it was in the night. No doubt the abundance was due to the expertise of the forester whose word guided her steps and knife. She approaches the gathering of ellith with a curious glance, following the notes of a song. On the way she releases the bundle of branches in her arms into a common basket. The satchel's contents remain in their place, most likely in time to find their way into cordials of the vintner's own making.

"Aye, no need to take them all," Eryndae replies in passing to Olathlinn. "Our friend may return, and I am loathe to leave her hungry. Perhaps the juices will be rich enough that half a bushel's store will serve. I shall consult the Cirithryl upon our return, but for now, let that be our strategy." Tatharwen's approach draws the Miruvorthaer's focus once more. "By your burden, I'd say your foray into the wood was succesful, mellon? If you think there is no more to find, perhaps the Bathril's suggestion to look elsewhere ought be followed."

Not making Maegi praying her a second, Olathlinn moves back to put the berries in a bag.As she does with the cattail, she identify the bag with :"Red berry?". Then turning to Eryndae:"What is missing?"she asks.

Glasiel approaches the berry bush quickly, her eyes widening. "Olathlinn, mellon. Please do not eat those berries!" She says this authoritatively, and urgently.
Aramir straightens and joins the small group to listen to what is ready.

Maegiaracha looks up, suddenly, at Glasiel, "Mellon? Is everything okay?" Her eyes flutter with concern. Her lips turn to a soft puzzled expression and she awaits.

"I think there is more, but one would need to range further," Tatharwen answers with a nod to Eryndae's inquiry. "Whether that is advisable or your wish, Eryndae, is another matter. How have you all fared here? Something to tempt the doe, but also something useful for dyes?" She gives the Silmaethor a quiet smile, casting a glance to the other ellith at Glasiel's sharp command.

From a farther direction of the river's shore comes a lithe elleth on almost-silent feet. She moves at a swift run, carrying in her hands something she deems precious, if the careful way she handles it is any indication. Red-brown tresses flying, leaves stuck haphazardl yint he wild length - it would seem she has already made friends with at least one tree alrwady - Iavananauras comes to a halt near the group, face flushed, but a wide smile gleaming and eyes bright. "Mae govannen!" she greets cheerfully. "Who can tell me what I have found?"

The Olvaristdil glances at her fellow healer's hands, and sighs. "Be sure you don't put your hands to your mouth, mellon. Your hands are covered in Arunya juice. So unless you wish to spend the rest of the day enjoying a deep, restful sleep...."

Maegiaracha watches the words from the Olvaristdil's lips emerge gracefully, but their effect is not so graceful. A look at her hands reveals that the crushed berry juice still lingers on them eagerly, "I had been thinking of giving it a . . . " A quick glance around reveals that Olathlinn is no longer in her premises, "The Elisthir had some . . . she is gone now." A bit of a frantic look passes over her expression, "Might she fall asleep while gathering? We must find her!" she exclaims, forgetting to respond to Iavananauras.

Eryndae considers the stores thoughtfully, peering into her own basket as well as those borne by others. "There may very well be enough of bark and root for a range of winter browns. The berries our mellyn have found shall produce a lovely red as well. But as to what is left to find, my answer is all that would serve. I shall collect more of these winter berries," she pauses, indicating the grayish purple fruits in her own basket, with which the doe had been fed, "to supplement a suitable bluish-purple dye. Meanwhile, let us drift more to the north. Surely the beech and oak groves hold natural treasures yet unfound."

Thus with a smile for the ellith and strides beginning towards the north, Eryndae nearly disappears into the trees' cover before Iavanauras darts past. Just barely catching her words on a breeze as the young ellith halts by the larger group, the vintner calls back her approval from beneath the canopy of branches, now nearly naked of leaves. "I know not, but will hope that someone might!"

Glasiel looks around, now also alarmed. "Did you see which path she took, mellon? For I sense it is urgent we find her. I will need all the berries, as well. Eryndae may have the skins for her dyes, after I first extract the juices for use by the healers."

Tatharwen drifts north at Eryndae's word, though she looks over her shoulder at the stir among the other ellith and her brow creases in something between amusement and concern. The forest holds more dangers than the darker creatures that prowl them, it seems.

A wide-eyed sparkle, a summer's ray of a smile in the direction of Eryndae, and then the elleth glances at the concern at hand. Tucking whatever it may be that she carries into one slender hand, she drifts towards them, sticking her little nose, as it were, straight into the conversation. "Pardon me," Iavanauras offers, that cheerful note still in her voice. "Have you looked within the camp? She might be back there."

Maegiaracha nods looking again at her pack of berries, "I will gladly help in the process of separating the berries to their specific uses," her voice lulls on, chilled with suspenseful fear, "Though perhaps we shall make sure Olathlinn is with us first?"

Glasiel nods. "Aye. We should locate her first, that is certain. Shall we split up, or look together?"

"Perhaps we shall stay close but somewhat split up?" suggest Maegiaracha, noting Iavanauras again, "Oh yes, did you need something?" she asks.

One slim eyebrow arches high, and the Tellenistril's gaze wanders back to the direction of the camp. "I said have you sought the elleth within the camp? If she is weary, she would go back there, would she not?" Iavanauras looks from face to face, a seriousness etching itself into her words. "Best to look in the most obvious before seeking the odd and finding trouble."

Glasiel smiles brightly at Iavanauras. "A blessed idea, mellon. And the wisest place to start looking."

A quick nod in agreement with the Tellenistril comes quickly from Maegiaracha, "Perhaps we would have inadvertently looked over such wise council had you not been here, great insight mellon." Her speech halts as she gazes towards the camp that is preparing to move north, "Perhaps we best look quickly?"

A quick, humour-filled smile is the ellith's answer, and with that, she heads back to camp with an easy, loping gait that eats up ground quickly yet does not overextend the body. "I am hungry," she calls as she goes, "so perhaps we could go see and take a moment to share a repast?" A mischievous note creeps into her voice - that of a Tellenistril wanting to eat, and assuring her chances of doing so!

Maegiaracha is off to the camp, a hummored smile coming from the Tellenistril's words. Soon she finds herself searching here and there with quick bounds and graceful steps follow, all the while steering clear of all collision by far. It is not long before she herself is lost among the gathering group moving north.