The violent sunset has burnt out, like a campfire gone cold, and as the sky sinks from purple to grey and finally black, stars have begun to pepper the night sky. In the darkness and shadow of the evening the movement of a figure are lost to the night. It is the scout Baradil, he slinks in as quietly as his soft feet can carry him till he is near upon the place where he left his comrades camped."If you're there and ready come on."

His voice hisses from the dark of the night, disembodied and lost. For the scout squats in bushes. "Packs must keep everything you need dry, like heavy clothes and foods. Make no sound lest eyes fall upon us, crossing any river with an arrow trained on you is a poor business. Come now, follow me." He steps out from the bushes and seeks to mark his comrades, though they all seem well hidden. 

A slight movement foretells the presence of the young messenger as she moves to stands against one of the trees, her pack upon her shoulders. The travelling staff she holds in her right hand, for support. With eyes probing Sionell looks towards the direction, from which the voice came. Her lips part as if she would speak, but then they press tightly closed once more, as the lass thinks the better of it, the scout's last words, curbing any flow of talk. Quietly, she lifts her hand to show that she has heard and steps slightly from the shadows of the great tree, the reeds of grass swishing against her booted feet.

The scout waits for the collection of scouts and the messenger to catch him then he turns as the messenger walks next to him. He leans over and whispers, "Follow me M'Lady the way is a little strange in the dark and the crossing will be hard, if you wish it I'll carry your pack across the river." He proceeds to walk down the slope and as he goes the group follow matching his pace and quietness as they may. With every step the sound of flowing water grows louder, the course he leads them keeps them at the skirts of bushes to mask his movements from several points. He gazes into the night and the impression of a dark line begins to grow in the land below as if some massive blade had hewn the land asunder.

A shake of the head is the Beorian woman's answer, though a grateful smile is granted to the scout for his offer. Yet the shadows of night weave about them, interrupted only by the pale starlight filtered through the leaves overhead, rendering the woman's gestures partly indiscernible, save the glitter in her eyes,visible every now and then. Adjusting the pack between her shoulders, she fixes her gaze on the land opening out before them and hastens her strides, to match that of the scouts. Indeed, little experienced is the lass in these matters and a slight furrow marks her brow as a twig snaps nosily under her slight weight. 

The scout hears a twig snap yet he turns not to mention it for little can be done to undo it and his own eyes assured the very path they now wander, not minutes ago. The moonless sky leaves little of the river to be seen though the starlight allows is serpentine path to be seen. Yet he does slow his gate a little and as he walks down the gentle slope the river now sits perhaps two score yards away yet the bushes fail here. The scout stoops and bends low. He waves a hand gesturing all to near him. "Get all you want dry off and get you packs in your hands. We will jog the route to the shore as to lessen time exposed. The river is not deep and I have run a rope over its breadth at the waterline. Hold it if you need it. Keep your pack over your head and if you can't manage it be sure to leave it, I'll fetch anyone."

He points to one of his scouts, Raelin. "Go first Raelin and be sure to make the shore is safe afore you get dried, wait till we are all over there is a small wooded place we can spend the night and get dry, a fire may even be chanced. I'll come last bringing the rope with me." The scout's quiet hissing ceases entirely. Still stooping he takes his long green cloak off to thick to be wetted and then his tunic. At some point the scout had put his armour beneath his long tunic and now he stands in long brown hose covering him from toes to waist and leather armour like a heavy vest, rather more exposed than the polite scout would be of norm. He tucks all the garments in his pack and hoists it onto his shoulder. "Get yourselves ready to cross, Ill head to the shoreline." The figure sinks low and ceapes into the shadow towards the shoreline.

Barely visible in the dim late summer night, Raelin nods wordlessly to Baradil, and disappears into the ebony cloak of darkness. Picking his way through the dense riverside undergrowth, the adept scout close behind, Raelin pauses at the ebbing river's edge for a moment, allowing the other man time to catch him. With another nod of his head, Raelin slips into the chilling night waters, the dull roar of moving water enough to cover any splashing the man might have made. Carefully, the soggy scout picks a route across the waters, his feet unsure on the mossy rocks. The river nearly claims the man several times, yet the agile scout is able to shore safely on the other side.

Her eyes following the disappearing forms of the scouts, as their shadowed form slip into the river's water, a frown marks the young Messenger's lips. Quickly she unties the leather pouch from her waist, slipping it carefully into the light pack on her back. Only then does, she begin lowering herself into the water, apprehensively, her coppery head bobbing slightly on the flowing water's as she grasps hold of the rope overhead. A slight cough and splutter masked by the river's voice, drops from the lass she the swirling waters splash into her mouth and eyes. Slowly she inches her way along the length of the wet rope, the pack bearing down upon her shoulders, her feet stepping gingerly. The rushing waters do its best, to dissuade the lass, wresting the pack from her grip and in reaching a hand frantically to yank it back...she somehow slips, the rope being tugged from her grasp. A faint cry is then, heard.... masked slightly by the roaring waters.

The last to go afore him is the lass so the scout readies himself to go, yet his green eyes stair of into the fast fading murk afore him. He sees the head of the Messenger drift from the rope, tying his pack to the rope he unties its end and quickly runs into the river holding the end tight in his hand. Splashing he makes yet not overmuch for the rush he makes. As he is up to his waist he lets himself to the current and begins to swim after the lass. As his bag is sodden, the robes lazy path is marked as it begins to arc across the river even as the first of the scouts begin to reach the far shore. In the black waters of the river the scouts deep eye can only fix where he deems she may now be and thus he swims with the current at his back.

His clothes sodden, Raelin slips up the bank on the opposite side of the river, eyes and ears alert for signs of trouble. The sudden muffled outcry causes the young man to wheel, nearly losing his footing on the steep embankment, just in time to see the maiden go under. Too far to be of any useful help in the water, the scout dashes down the shoreline silently, but recklessly, his eyes never leaving the spot of the Dorthonion's last sighting.

A young scout, Tarkil, creeps the last few steps of the pebbled shoreline and breaks ground. His pack is held over his head and he throws it to the ground as he lands. In an instant the young man takes his bow from the pack and begins to creep further up the lazy banks of the river. His head gazes hither and thither for ought wrong. "You should be doing this Raelin," calls the young man in a peculiarly deep voice, but quiet voice his sodden clothes dripping wet. "I'm green and I know that. Did the rope snap there or something it went slack just as I made shore."

The rush of the waters song fills the Beorian messenger's ears, as she is swept a bit further from where the rope is and with arms, flailing, she struggles to reach it. Yet, the flow is strong and hindering and she finds footing difficult to hold. The waters push at her slight form, small and dark in the rushing waters, floating her this way and that, till at last contact with a large rock, prevents her nearly from sailing all the way down the river. A gasp flies from her lips and with all her strength; she clings to the rocky surface, slipping every now and then, her hands hanging onto the slippery boulder with difficulty.

"I don't know what happened! You should have been more careful!" The scout snaps at the inquiry, his desperate gaze still on the meandering, yet strong current. Aware of his helplessness to go to the maiden's aide, the scout stands frozen on the riverbank now. Two other scouts shore behind Tarkil, and fan out into the underbrush, forcing Raelin's attention back to his duties at hand. Glaring angrily at the scout responsible for the rope momentarily, Raelin turns and skulks forward into the willows. 

The scout now nears both rock and Beorian, his swimming arm falls in fact on the arm of the lass, more through chance than invention. Yet his broad overlarge hands clasp tightly, perhaps painfully. He is drawn next to and past the last yet he finds footing on a rock. The scout jerks to a peculiar stop and grunts, torn by the tide, rope and lass. After a moment of regaining breath from his flooded mouth he gasps for air. "Are you ok?" his voice mingled with screams for breath is near lost over the water. He passes the rope round her waste without by or leave and roughly shakes it to her. "Hold the rope if you can." The scout now clings to the rock that the lass had done."

Her eyes blinking at the spray of the rushing waters, droplets running along the sides of her face, Sionell nods, shakily, wincing as he grabs hold of her arm."Yes...yes.."She says, coughing as yet another gush of water finds its way into her mouth, as she speaks. "A...bit..dazed.." Her, vision swirls a bit, much like the waters flow...everything rendered into a medley of blurred images, the noise of the waters, crashing into her senses, the scout's voice albeit distant. Nodding, again she takes the rope, missing the first attempt as the currents draw it from her grasp, before she has both hands on it

.

Baradil, as he swam to tie the rope at first, swims again yet now pushing the lass on. His long legs kick hard against the current yet the pair begin to move off rather downstream from the rest, all now birthed on the west bank. His sight is lost to the waves and gasped breaths is all he can take, yet his kicking legs soon find stone as the west bank slowly draws near, he now plants his feet firm. And drops to his knees exhausted. His chest heaves violent and coughs fly from his throat however he tries to mask them. He then lets go of the lasses arm, leaving her to the shallows. 

Time is suspended for the young scout Raelin as he watches his fellow scout aide the woman from deeper waters, and then collapse, eaching the shallows. Motioning to Darian to assist Baradil, Raelin darts to from the bushes, and to the maiden's side, attempting to help her the final distance to dry ground. "Are you all right?" The words rush from the scout's mouth, nearly babble, "Can you walk?" Deep concern lights the Dor-lominer's eyes as he speaks, his arms extended to help the woman in anyway he can. 

Finding herself pushed along and only managing weak kicks of her legs to aid, Sionell closes her eyes, holding tightly to the rope encircling her waist. Only till, they reach the shallow waters, does she plant her feet down and staggers her way to the shore weakly, half crawling onto the stony bank. Sucking in large breaths of air, she breathes raggedly, lying against the stone and coughing up, the river water. Only, then does she look towards the scout...and murmers, "Thank..you..." Her fingers move to touch the graze on her temples and wincing she draws herself onto her knees shivering slightly and blinking. "I'm....I'm sorry...."she says, hoarsely, "are..you alright?"

Her unfocused gaze, looks to Raelin and she shakes her head dazedly, her eyes widening with sudden alarm.."My..pack...the etters..!!"she cries, going off into another bout of coughing, gripping Raelin's arm tightly when , suddenly..a slight shape floats to the bank...bobbing merrily, to land near their feet. The afore mentioned pack, it would seem.

Raelin holds the woman loosely as the coughing fit racks her body, attempting to steady her. Sliding around the woman on the riverbed, he scout reaches down to snag the pack before the current can draw it away. "A bit damp,"Raelin forces the words to sound relaxed, but the lad is visibly shaken, "I'm sure everything will be well inside. You need to get on land, and dry off." Trying to point the woman in the direction of land proper, Raelin sluffs his mostly dry cloak, and extends it for the woman to wrap herself in. "Wear it, M'lady," he chatters, "It is wool. It's fibres can keep you warm, even when your own garments are wet."

The scout sits there a while sitting in the shallows even as the lass is heaving herself out. As his companion and fellow Marachian offers his hand Baradil takes it. His sodden clothes drip and his long beard is wetted to his face. His lungs pound in and out yet his breath no longer roars. "I'm all right M'Lady as long as you are." He listens then to see her cry out of letters and then a dry weak chuckle rattles from his throat, even though it is full of water.

He walks straight towards the lass and grabs his own pack and drags it to land. He takes his bow from its side and grabs a couple of arrows and marches from the shoreline to the new un-looked shoreline. "Darian, get back with Tarkil, climb up the bank and untie my rope and wind it up, then you'll see its tide to the trunk of a tree. Go in there, there's a small glade covered by thick trees, scout it first and get a fire going, to hang with eyes. I'll kill anyone with my damp satchel if they approach."

The quiet calls of his fellow scouts guide Raelin, still clutching the Beorian messenger close, to secluded glade several meters from the river. The faint smell of wood smoke guides the scout the last steps to the camp, and he breaks the last bit of undergrowth to find two of his companions kindling a small flame. Guiding the young woman to a tree trunk, Raelin gestures to it, whispering, "You should sit, M'lady. Rest. You've not the strength to be standing, all wet as you are." Pulling his cloak tightly about the maid, Raelin smiles weakly at the dazed adan. 

Sinking down on the tree stump, the Beorian messenger nods, casting her eyes to the flames...as if mesmerised by the flickering light. Shadows dance across, her features cast by the firelight and she sighs...cupping her chin in her hands, staring in silence. Water drips from her clothes, and along her arms running from her hair to the earth, dampened by its trickling. She seems to heed little, simply staring...occupied with her thoughts. "Thank...you again.."she says quietly after long last, turning her eyes to Raelin .."I would...thank Baradil..also..but he..isn't here yet.." She says slowly, huddling further into the cloak and closing her eyes with exhaustion. It seems...tis the last words that leave, the lass's lips...for she drops into a sleep..her head resting slightly forwards, her breath ensuing softly.

The tall scout follows along behind his counterpart and the maid and his steps are a little staggered yet his bow is out before him. His eyes scan the place with the same thoroughness that he has grown to use always. Yet as he approaches the glade he notes and orange glow even afore he enters, "Tarkil, Darian, that's two high. Add some leaves and use that rope to hand a line to dry our clothes." He slumps down and opens his pack to find the leather has been remarkable untouched by the water. Thus is why the pack is chosen yet it surpassed even his greatest guess, he throws a few round shapes at the two scouts dealing with fire, at last ten packs are thrown. "Hare and honey again. I rest now give me it me when its cooked."

The scout slumps and covers himself with his cloak, in another moment he slings his hose at the scouts, put them on the line if you please." He lies back and seems to drift off into sleep when he sits up again, "And when your done doing that make sure this place is secure, his voice is quiet, yet seemingly slightly shaken.

The three remaining scouts set about preparing and securing the camp, letting the two rest quietly a world away from the ordeal.