Present Day
Fornost

Morwen crept through the bushes, careful to avoid the guards who stood at intervals along the cobbled walkway. They seemed disinterested at best, and one was even leaned up against the wall, no doubt merely 'resting his eyes."

She slid past him easily, not making a sound as she set her feet down carefully onto the grass with each step. The next guard seemed more alert; That is, he was at least actively standing at his post and seemed to be mostly awake. She waited a moment, watching him from her vantage point in the manicured shrubs on the side of the path. She was tempted to throw a rock in an attempt to distract him, but she doubted that such a trick worked as well in real life as it did in the stories.

Instead, she waited for a while longer, forced to suppress her impatient nature. As he turned away, she made her move, swiftly leaping to the next set of shrubs. Fortunately for her, he seemed to either not notice or not care, and he began to meander down the path in the opposite direction.

After breathing a sigh of relief, Morwen closed the remaining distance to the sturdy oak doors that led into the council chambers, peering inside to see if her father was present.

Gerithor was indeed there, seated in his usual spot at the head of the table, his eyebrows knotted together in concern. Beside him on one side was Carenor, who for once seemed interested in the conversation that was taking place. On his other side was a ranger Morwen didn't recognize, his dark hair gleaming with sweat and his garb unkempt and dirty.

"We didn't even hear it coming, m'lord," He said, his words interrupted with heavy breathing. "Like a ghost out of the night it fell upon our camp."

"Did you ever see it?" Gerithor asked, turning to the ranger.

"Aye," The man said, pausing for a moment as if reliving a terrible trauma. "By the time I awoke, the screams of my companions filled the air. It had torn into their tents, dragging them out and killing them by the embers of the dying fire. When I emerged from my own tent, I saw it. Its claws were dripping with blood, claws that were long and sharp as a tempered blade. It turned to face me and I met its eyes, red and bloodshot like some sort of demon. It howled and bounded off into the forest, still carrying the body of Thildun. I tried to chase it but it was fast. Too fast, if you ask me. It was like it vanished. I followed the tracks but they led far to the north..."

"How far?" Gerithor asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"I pursued the beast until a snowstorm blew the tracks away. I was nearing the northern reaches of the Ettenmoors. If the snow clears we may still be able to pick up its trail."

Gerithor rose from his seat, Carenor following suit. "Stay here and recover," Gerithor told the ranger. "My son and I will see if we can pick up where you left off."

Morwen ducked behind the bushes once more as they left the keep, but she was not quick enough. Carenor broke into a sly smile when he saw her.

"Eavesdropping, eh?" He asked, waiting for her to emerge from the bushes. When she did, he let out a short laugh. "Well, I suppose you finally heard something interesting, at least."

Morwen frowned, angry that her older brother had caught her. "It was hardly worth it. Do you know how long it took to sneak past the guards?"

As she finished speaking, one of the guards gave her a quizzical look. She shrugged and turned back to her brother.

"Do you think father will let me come with you?" She asked, lowering her voice so Gerithor wouldn't overhear her. He was busy in conversation with one of the guards, but his hearing was keen.

Carenor gave her a sympathetic look. "I know you're old enough to go out there. Trust me, I do. But you know how father is. He won't accept that his youngest is grown until it slaps him in the face."

The muscles in Morwen's jaw tensed, but she gave her brother a nod. "He'll have to accept it eventually."

"But until that day comes, I'll do what I can to make things easier for you," Carenor said with a slight smile. "When we return, you and I will do a little sleuthing of our own. Chances are, father and I won't even find the tracks. The Ettenmoors are vast."

Morwen's face brightened at his words. "Thank you, Carenor. Until then, I'm off to the training fields."

With a flash of her characteristically mischievous grin, she turned and dashed off down the path, intent on distracting herself from missing the opportunity to go on yet another adventure.

===============================

Ettenmoors, Two Days Later

The best thing about the Ettenmoors was that there was rarely a reason to go there. Between the constant clouds and the dismally dead grey landscape, there was little of appeal in this vast tract of rocky land.

Gerithor, though no longer a youth, was as nimble as a mountain goat, bounding from rock to rock as his long legs carried him further up the hillside. Carenor had never seen his father more at ease than when he was clad in the garb of a ranger, traversing the wilds with a sturdy yew bow in his hand. The older ranger knelt down beside a depression in the grass, studying it for a moment before continuing on.

"Still no sign of our quarry," he said. "Though a creature as large as ours should have left an easy trail."

Carenor nodded and followed his father, carefully observing their surroundings as they proceeded onward. He was eager to learn from Gerithor when it came to the art of wandering the wilds; His father had been one of the best in his younger days, a skilled tracker as well as an adept survivalist. Carenor remembered stories his father had told him as a child, of a youthful Gerithor traveling north on a journey of revenge and sorrow. He could imagine his father traversing the very path they were on now, the wind catching his cloak and his steadfast companions at his side.

Carenor often longed for the adventures of his father. There was no doubt that they had been difficult, but each time he heard the tales his heart stirred within him, and his dreams were filled with distant mountains and unnamed caves within which no man had set foot. Even during his waking hours, which were often filled with the dull monotony of council meetings and menial tasks, his mind wandered to lands far away, the trench-scarred battlefields of Erebor or the sandy dunes of exotic Rhun materializing before him.

"Come," Gerithor said, pulling him from his thoughts. "I think I see tracks down in that gully."

The descent was steep, with loose gravel lining either side of the depression and little solid ground to gain a footing on. Still, Gerithor reached the bottom with relative ease, urging Carenor to follow behind him. Soon the younger man was at his father's side, tracking his gaze to the ground in front of them.

Before them was a set of large, oblong tracks, far longer and broader than those of a man. "See how they sink so far?" Gerithor observed, tracing the edge of one particularly clear print. "Whatever made these was heavy." He made his own print beside it for emphasis, and though he pressed down with his full weight the track was barely visible.

"From the spacing between tracks, this creature was moving at great speed as well," he continued, starting to follow the tracks as they led to the north. "I would say that a troll made these, but they are too large."

"A mountain giant, perhaps?" Carenor asked, making an effort to keep up with his father's nimble movements.

"Aye, perhaps, " Gerithor nodded, focused now only on the path the tracks wove through the dry riverbed. They continued on until the tracks ascended out of the gully, now spaced further apart as the trail continued straight north.

"Fresh," Gerithor said quietly. "It must've caught our scent, it began running here."

As if in answer a low growl sounded from the rain-parched thickets a short distance ahead of them, a rumble that seemed to be warning them to stay away.

Carenor barely had time to blink before Gerithor's sturdy bow was in his hand, an arrow already nocked. He lowered himself into a squatting position, indicating for his son to do the same. Carenor drew his own bow and crouched down, watching the bushes intently for any sign of movement.

"See there?" Gerithor whispered, nodding to the brush line. "It's watching us."

It took Carenor another moment before he saw them. Eyes, piercing blue, peered out at them from between the branches. No other details could be made out, but the eyes held a certain primitive savagery that caused Carenor to shiver involuntarily, his hair standing on end in primal fear.

"Stay still, son," Gerithor cautioned, his own body tensed like a drawn bowstring.

The beast stirred, backing into the shadows of the brush until it disappeared completely. Carenor rose to make chase, but Gerithor grabbed onto his shoulder. "Hold! We do not know what lurks there. And the sun is low already on the horizon, it would be a poor decision to follow this creature into the shadows of night."

"But it will escape, and we will not discover its purpose!" Carenor exclaimed in disappointment.

Gerithor rose to his feet. "I have no doubt that it will return again. It is not from these lands, and so will likely stay where food is plentiful."

Carenor nodded, still ill at ease to let the beast roam free. But his father was right; the sun was casting long shadows as it made its descent, and soon it would disappear over the horizon altogether. They would have their chance again... he hoped.