Grouse Thicket if the wind does blow

hope was such a fleeting thing -- no sooner had it lit up imrathil's hollow gaze, it fled. what was left in its place was a tired, dogged kind of apathy - a resigned expression that showed well imrathil was suited to disappointment.

he eyed the swarthy male, a glimmer of something like respect in his features as tulimaq spoke. of particular note was the word he had chosen to use prior to saying mountain -- "'my mountain?'" imrathil's tone was curious, laced with subtle worry - had he been trespassing? "no, not alone -- my friend was traveling with me, but i have not seen him in a few days either. who are you?"

keeping friendly (as was inarguably in his nature) imrathil conversed with tulimaq a while longer before the two parted company, and imrathil headed uphill.