Eartmos is seated at one of the benches ringing the center of the clearing, whereat a great and yet small lebethron sapling can be seen to be planted. He looks upon it happily even as he watches people mill about, the closing ceremonies no doubt due to begin at any time.

From the distance you hear a sound...
Soft and sad it comes...

And then, deep drums...
Boom... doom boom...
Boom... doom boom...

With a ripple of the emerald fabric that defines its flapped door, step the Ethian Clan Master and his wife from the pavillion that has housed the Rohir during there visit to Pelargir. Some soft conversation takes place between Aldorhain and the tall, youthful warrior there beside, and Aelspeth snatches the opportunity to skim her eyes, keen and dusky violet, about the clearing, offering in silent greeting a nod to those she has come to know. But nothing does she speak, angling her face toward the distant source of the low drumming.

And with the drums, the high-pitched, keening sounds of ....

Voices.

And beyond them, in a deep voice a sound rolls, a lolling sound of the waves that mourn upon the shore as the gulls mewl above, a dirge comes, as knights approach in full panoply of the array of the flower of the Chivalry of Belfalas...
A dirge is sung...

At the head of the dirge figure, a tall grey walker strides. His helm is tall and his eyes are piercing, and there is no mistake, the Prince has come to this land. Yet in his hand he holds a wreath. And that wreath is of the holly tree, and its dark leaves look somber in the cool autumn air as the sons of Amroth come to pay homage to the fallen dead.

Aiesha looks up quietly as the knights approach, yet she says nothing.
on Either side of the stalwart column..... Bareheaded women, matrons and maidens... Wringing their hands and tearing out their hair.

 Wailing their laments for husbands, sons, daughters, lovers, betrothed... all fallen.

Rhyssia steps quietly from her tent and strolls over to the gathered crowd.

Beside the great Prince come his lieutenants and thanes, officers and companions. A great band and retinue.. all afoot, lifting their voices in the solemn dirge.

Imrahil steps forward in slow and solemn steps. The Prince's face is ashen and his face as cold as graven stone. He comes forth his cape trailing behind him. As he comes to a dias set in the midst of the clearing. Slowly, one by one the biers pass him by, and Imrahil, still as stone salutes them all as they pass, and the tears whelm in his eyes. At length the Prince says in a voice of utter clarity that carries over the field, "My friends. Behold the price of valour!"

Malahir, head is bowed, leaning heavily on his old wooden cane by the healers tent. His midsection seems a few sizes larger. Upon further inspection, bandages adorn the soldier.

Edmond glides up to the field from afar, remaining a quiet spectre along the sidelines of the throng, listening to the going ons.

Imrahil continues and his arms drop to his sides, "What we had hoped would be a celebration of the merriment of our eternal friendship has turn into a black day for the West. Alas, for the children slain, and mothers weeping and maidens sore who shall never see their loves or hopes again for they are now WITHERED in this season of closing!"

Low and deep are the voices of the Knights, beautiful and sad. The tongue in which they sing is ancient Sindarin, and though many may not know the words, the visions which they speak seem to flow freely. It is a song of valor, of hope, and of loss. Verily the images of battle, in all the horror, glory, and sadness flow from the lips of the flower of Dol Amroth's chivalry... the singing and the drums do not cease as Imrahil speaks, though they grow barely audible, just enough to evoke tears in even the most stoic of men.

And in a gathered silence watch the Lord and Lady of distant Ethias, Aelspeth having put her hand upon the arm of her husband, who has come to stand and watch more closely by her side.. both lifting their eyes to the Prince as his words hearken forth to snare at the attention of all here in the field.

Eartmos sighs, hearing the melancholy of the drums' sound even as they move nearer with the brilliant procession of knights in armor and their colors. The dirge, soft and low, lends him to another meditative look towards the lebethron tree and all that it holds bright testament to--the valiance of fallen soldiers hanging in the still, drum-filled air. The wails cause him to blink in suprise and sadness at the outcry. Surely, he has never seen a funeral such as this before...no, never.

Analdin stands silently at the edge of the clearing, leaning heavily against a pole of one of the pavillions. His light eyes darken, and his gaze falls upon the parade of people approaching, then quietly to the round as he lowers his head at the Prince's words and the sight.

Beladan slides through the press of knights, bearing aloft the Colors of Amroth and Isilrim. He nears the Prince and stands behind him in resolute tribute to the fallen, the pennants flying proudly.

Edmond notices the woman with whom he met not long ago in this very field. Approaching silently, he leans over and wispers to Aiesha, "... is ... meaning ... ... ... sounding ...? ... ... is definately not ... or ..., ... I ... ... ... bad ...."

Helorondur adds his own solemn voice to the singing... He weeps with the beauty of the words.... and the cause for their performance. Rare is the sorrow shown here today!

Imrahil raises his head and looks at the people and says, "And now, such is the price we pay when treason has entered our halls, and now I weep. Indeed, I weep, for the maidens who have passed this day away. A fortnight ago I stood on this field and I saw a happy face, a cherubine face blessed by the Valar in courtesy and beauty, surely here was a jewel upon the crown of Belfalas! Yet, the hours pass and the tide of darkness flows, and then our Dread foe came. And then fire, slaughter and treason." The shadows flow over the head of Imrahil as he says, "And there, on these very streets where once she laughed gaily in the sun. She was now maimed. Her beauty forever marred by the wickedness wrought unto us."

Aiesha bows her head, a tear quietly escaping her as it rolls down her face. She shakes her head sadly, her glance going to the many grieving maidens, not in the mood to even flick her hair out of her face. She smiles sadly as she sees Edmond, nodding. "It is a funeral," she murmurs to him quietly.

Imrahil holds up his fist, "Yet by what strength has been granted to me! By what feable power the Valar have given unto these..." Imrahil holds out his arms, "Unto these withered bones. I swear to you, that vengeance shall be brought to bear upon them for all the vile deeds they have done to us. No joy shall the son of Adrahil have ere this is done. Therefore, I say to you that those who have bled in the field of Pelargir shall be taken back with retribution, and the pill stones we use to dig their graves here shall be cast upon the Haradrim and knock their walls down in utter ruin!"

Illiana stands silently in the crowd, her emerald eyes darkened by sadness as she watches the fallen pass and listens to the words of her Lord

Imrahil clenches his fists as the tears roll down his cheeks as he says, "So I swear."

Edmond looks quite astonished. He again speaks in low tone, "... is ... ... good ... to ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ...?" He sighs, "Who ... ..., ... ...? ... ... ... ... ... ... a few ..., I ... to know ... ... ... participation ... ... ... Melee." He frowns quietly, respectful of the ceremony.

Analdin raises his head, eyes glinting as steel, though perhaps only from the hints of dampness at the corners of his eyes. His expression turns hard, though not angry, as though the sorrow faded away into determination.

In accordance with the weather, a bird calls mournfully in a tree nearby; and a soft, gray rain begins to fall with the early morning.

Imrahil turns to the south and holds out his hands, "Dubghlas, your day shall come and you shall die a bitter death for the crimes you have done unto us!"

Helorondur stands motionless, refusing even to pull his Swan-Cloak of the order tighter about him in the gloom. Rivulets of water run from his hauberk, unnoticed.

The rain falls a little harder, as if urged to by Imrahil; and the wind blows from the north, pushing southern winds away.

Aiesha murmurs, barely audible, "It was many, innocent and unsuspecting..have you heard not of the battle?" She lets another tear run down her face, watching the Prince with great respect.

The Prince sighs and then says to the people and his mood seems suddenly changed, "Yet, even in death, we must not let it rule us, for that would not be wise and a dangerous mood is an ill one. As it is said: ill news is an ill guest. And you my friends are my guest. Therefore, I say unto you all, even though sadness has marred our joy, it shall add to the great history of the days to come. Therefore, I call upon Aelspeth of the Rohirrim to come forth!"

Illiana draws the hood of her black cloak further over her hair

Edmond shakes his head, solemnly returning to his silent observance. The rain drips down his face, and drips down off of his angular chin, tumbling to it's destination on the soggy ground. He knows not of the battle, but of death, he does. He steps away from Aiesha, and moves outside the crowd to it's fringes.

Rhyssia continues to stand unmoving among the many even as the rain falls and the winds begin. She watches the knights her eyes red from so many tears.

Aiesha watches all taking place, the sadness in her eyes one she is not greatly accustomed to. She notices Edmond moving to the fringes of the crowd, even as she gazes at the one summoned by the Prince.

Some flicker of startlement might be seen for those few looking upon the tall, blonde woman's face as her name is spoken aloud.. And Aelspeth takes the time to turn a confused and questioning glance to her husband from beneath the arch of her brow before loosing her fingers from his arm and stepping forward in a graceful cascading of lithe motion and velvet skirts. Through the press moves she nearer to the prince, tilting up her head to keep her eyes upon him as she lifts the music of her lowly lilted voice. "And she does come forth, lord, though why this might be so, she surely knows not." A smile ends her words, slight and lovely both.

Imrahil nods and says, "Stand by my side Lady of Rohan. And now. Let the Lord Aldorhain come forth!"

Eartmos watches with a short smile upon his face, countenance brightened to see what occurs.

With the curvingof her lips growing faintly, Aelspeth does as she is bid, dim light playing silver over the linked belt that holds her waist, sparkling kisses over its inset gems. Beneath the misty morn, her hair holds the subdued gold of the captured sun, rilling o'er her back as she comes to stand beside the Prince, her gaze falling then upon her husband.

Edmond raises a black cloak from his satchel, and he covers himself in it as he becomes a shadow. Pulling a book out of his knapsack, he begins to record something with a fine pen. He looks up to the speaker, then to the congregation of souls in mourning. He continues writing silently.

Aldorhain watches Aelspeth move through the crowd and once she is moving to stand beside, Imrahil. As his own name is called out, an eyebrow rises and he draws in a deep breath before he himself begins to make his way through the crowd. As he makes his way to the front of the press, he pulls back the cowl of his cloak back, the raindrops that have collected there falling down over his shoulders as he does so. He closes the distance then and moves to stand beside Aelspeth and Imrahil, having remained silent throughout this.

Imrahil nods to Aelspeth, "Stand to my left Lady of Rohan, and you, Aldorhain, reknowned Captain of the Mark, to my right."

Eartmos watches his lord and lady approach the Prince, and himself stands up from the rain-spattered marble bench to better view what they see, say, and, perhaps, recieve?

Imrahil nods to the Knight-Herald, Helorondur the Tall to begin and says, "Stand by me my friends as we pay homage to the fallen."

Illiana seeks Beladan in the press of Knights and smiles softly before turning her face once again to her Prince

Aldorhain lifts up a hand to run it through his long snowy mane of hair and he then moves to the area specified by Imrahil, his eyes moving out to look over the crowd.

Helorondur bows to Imrahil, and departs to a large pavilion near the Lists. Momentarily, he returns, but not alone. He leads a riderless horse, equipped with all the panoply of war. An empty saddle has been cinched around the charger's belly; empty stirrupups hold spurred legs no longer. Draped in black caparison, the horse is lead in circuit round the fairground as a trio of clarions play a final, regal salute to the Fallen.

Imrahil casts down his head and is silent for a long moment.

The Prince now links his hands with the twain and holds them up as he cries, "Let all now behold. Forever is the fief of Belfalas linked with the People of Rohan, and to your people, I promise ever to give succour in what way I may! Behold and be glad, for never had two such folks had such a friendship."

Analdin remains silent, watching the Prince with intent gaze, though a hint of curiousity touches his eyes. From his leaning stance not too far from the front of the crowd, though too far over to the side for the closeness to be an advantage, his eyes narrow as though trying to see.

Helorondur nods to two knights and to two of the Rohirrim. Together, the five men act as one as they guide the Riderless Charger near the lists. After a long, silent, and somber pause, the remove all of the gear, the saddle, the caparison, the stirrups and bit, and lastly, the reins. With a final salute, the release the Charger.

The Riderless Horse departs for better pastures.

Aiesha glances back towards the healer's tent, noticing Malahir. She smiles as she sees several other familiar faces in the crowd, then lowers her head in respect for the fallen.

Aelspeth's delicately wrought features turn to a solemnity that has possessed them each and every single time she's looked upon the city not so far away, and memory sets mist within her eyes as unconsciously her slim shoulders square with a defiant sort of pride, a respect for the fallen, and a fierce leap of fire at Imrahil's words. "As in days of old when did Eorl ride foaming his stallion from the north, bonds were formed amongst our peoples far more strengthy than the strictures of passing time, do we now, do I now, speak for those that roam the ever rolling plain. Allies shall our twined lands be until the end, the destiny of each wound up within the other.. friends." Her low voice does not need lift to be heard, and her fingers tighten within the noble hand of the Prince there at her side as that riderless mount moves away.

Imrahil sighs and says turning to Aelspeth, "And now, Lady of Rohan, I called you here for another purpose. For indeed, it was your very hand that has crafted the banners that were for all to see in your Pavilion set upon this field. Thus, as is the custom, I give to you the prize as granted to the winners."

Two retainers materialize carrying a chest with them, "Herein layeth a chest of silver and gold it is yours." Imrahil then says, "Yet of more importance is the victory you have won for your people in that you have bested the artisans of Gondor." Imrahil then smiles, "Though it may be otherwise in other days."

Aelspeth's surprise is utterly complete at this point, and she accepts her prize with a smile which can only hint at the speaking of her joy in this thing. "Speechless am I, lord.. and thankful ever. For those of our people that thus might be in need shall I keep this great treasure in store.. a memory and a pleasant one of Gondor." Elegant is the nodding of her gold tressed head, grace flowing in the simple gesture.

Helorondur and his chosen band return wordlessly to the gathering.

Sanos watches the splendid ending of the past fair days, on this rainy morning, and he is very intent towards the words of Imrahil. Glancing over to Malahir, Sanos smiles and and gives a friendly nod of recognition.

Imrahil smiles slowly for a moment, "Indeed Lady, keep it well and use it at need for my heart says that the days to come will be dark. Yet now you must now it was a hard choice for there were others of great craft of hand. Indeed, I call Analdin of the Soldiery of Minas Tirith to come forth."

Analdin raises his head, a look of almost surpise touching his face, as his name is called. Slowly, leaning on a crutch of wood, he strides quietly up to stand beside the Prince and those at the front of the crowd. Keeping his silence, he gives a half bow, as much as the bandages that bind his shoulder allow him.

Aelspeth passes from the Prince's side then, moving to take the arm of her husband and brush a soft kiss upon his cheek before he leads her down and through the crowds, back to their people. Soft words of congratulations are spoken amongst them there, but nothing to disturb the ceremony, to which attention is quickly returned.

Aiesha's eyes blink in suprise as Analdin's name is mentioned, and her eyes follow him as he limps to take a place next to the Prince.

Sanos watches his Lt. carefully as he makes his way up towards the Prince, and his eyes fill with splender as thoughts pour across his face.

Imrahil cries, "Yet the choice was near, I call forth Eartmos of Rohan forth as well!"

Eartmos blinks oddly and makes his way--it takes quite a while--through the milling crowd, up towards the Prince, and nods his head in deference as he reaches the same. He does not speak, but smiles.

Imrahil looks to both Analdin and Eartmos, "Never has it been that there has been such a draw. Yet a draw there was none the less. To each of you, the second prize is granted!"

The retainers now give each a bag of gold.

Sanos holds in a small smile, and looks up at Analdin and Eartmos with a twinkling eye.

Aiesha smiles brightly, tempted to clap. She does not, however, but continues to grin.

Illiana smiles now as she watches the happier portion of the gathering

Aelspeth's smile has not faded, a contained thing that manages to grow in warmth, if not size, as she watches the proceedings from the cool green shadow that rests along the Rohirric pavilion.

Analdin's eyes light, not at the sight of the bag of gold, though he holds out his hand and carefully recieves it as it is given him, but more at the mention of second prize. With a hint of a smile behind his haggard features, the young Guard says in a quiet tone, "Thank ye."

Rhyssia watches on as the prizes are handed out. Her eyes again stray back to the Knights of Dol Amroth. Smiling slightly she then turns back to the Prince.

Imrahil says to Analdin and Eartmos, "Go with good guidance and words of grace, you have pleased your sovereigns and the people of this land well." Imrahil then looks up at the crowd and cries, "And now, lastly, I call forth the Lady Kerowyn!"

Eartmos looks at Analdin and then to Imrahil with happiness--and indeed not a little shock, as the prize is named. "Great thanks, mi'lord, and good health to your heirs!" he says quietly to the Prince in hefting the small bag of fine coinage in his hands as he recieves it. He bows, deeply; and as he is addressed by Imrahil makes his way down and through the crowd to where he sat before after thanking the proper personages. As the rain falls lightly he seems not to notice it at all.

Sanos follows the descinding men off the podium, and as they pass he smiles to each one of them.

Elphir watches his father's procedings with only mild interest. There is fire and anguish still in his eyes; he has not forgotten the reason which they had come here for, and it is certain that more than just rain has wetted his nicely tanned cheeks. These matters of prize-giving, and of fair words do not move the young prince. Rather, he looks back over his shoulder as these things go on, standing just a few steps behind his father, and looks at the city of Pelargir. But this glance takes barely a second, and he returns to watching his regal father with marked disinterest, eyes red and brow stern with resolve as he remembers his father's earlier words.

Imrahil cries, "Is not the Lady Kerowyn present?" The Prince frowns.

To left and right slips Aelspeth's gaze, keenly seeking out the lady who matches the name that has just rung out above the gathering, but she is not nearby.. friend and sister healer that she is. Turning, she slips into the pavilion in an attempt to locate her, but is gone only moments before returning to the dewy morn, where she speaks a message to that tall man outside the dooor. "I fear that the Lady Kerowyn is not near enough for to hear your summoning, and sore disappointed shall she be in that fact upon discovering it, please go and speak thusly to the Prince and his retainers." And he does, skimming throughout the crowd to speak with a counterpart at Imrahil's feet.

Helorondur remains grim-faced, but the damp has receded from his eyes. He pulls his cloak about tighter, and shakes off the worst of the rainwater. Every so often, he can be seen gesturing to pages who succesively bring parcels up to the gathering.

Sanos continues to watch, as rain rolls of his brow and the look of splendir still is deep within his glowing eyes.

Imrahil looks upon his son and says, "I feel your heart my son, and we come to an age where death and life are akin and to have merriment, we must mete with sorrow as well. Little and happy heart do I have at these proceedings even though it should have been great joy, yet even so, we must for we are bound with honour until the Last Battle to be ever courteous and true."

Charystra slips quietly towards Helorondur, listening intently to Prince Imrahil's words, even as she moves. Green eyes are veiled beneath lowered lashes, her face quiet

Aiesha watches, her eyes lighting in recognition of her friend, the Lady Kerowyn. She glances to others in the crowd, and looks for her familiar face among them.

Imrahil looks down upon the messanger and says, "Alas, that she is not here. Let me however give this retainer her prize." Imrahil hands the messenger a bag of silver, "For she had taken the third prize in the faire."

The Rohirric rider bows his head with a curt respect for the prince, and turns with a flowing stride to return to the Aelspeth, with whom he entrusts the Lady Kerowyn's prize, knowing them to be friends. And it would have been debateable that the woman could have shone with anymore pride.. but she somehow manages it.

Analdin, having stepped slowly back to his perch at the edge of the crowd after his prize was recieved, and a few more small smiles given to those nearby, continues to watch in the search for Kerowyn, his brows naoorwing together as she does not come nor appear to be present. With a shrug and a quiet final glance over the crowd, he reaches his post and leans back against it, relazing to watch the rest.

Aiesha glances towards the city of Pelargir, her mood changes reflected plainly in her eyes. First, sadness...then, perhaps confusion?..then finally anger. She says nothing, and moves out from the crowd, hoping nobody would notice if she quietly departed whilst all eyes were on the Prince and those with him.

Imrahil turns now back to the crowd and says, "And now my friends, I bid you all farewell. The leagues are long to Rohan and winter comes. May health, hope and home find you all from this day unto the ending of the world!" Imrahil bows to those gathered in a salute of farewell.

Charystra's voice rises up, clear but soft, "My lord Prince...myself and Lord Beladan, have a request of thee, if thou wilt but grant it. Tis to honor those who have paid the ultimate price."

Illiana finds her friend Charystra in the crowd, her eyes curious at this statement

The Rohirrim offer their own form of salute to the Prince of this fair land, and are already amongst their horses and their tents, preparing for that long journey home, though many are caught by Charystra's request.. and pause to attend it.

Imrahil turns to the Lady Charystra, "And what would you do Lady Charystra?"

Charystra's voice rings clear again, "My lord Prince, I know not if thou hast heard of the blood oath myself and Lord Beladan did give here, nights past to honor those who died. Lord Beladan and myself, have both sworn to honor them here at this tree" and she gestures gracefully, "With our own blood...if thou wilt allow it..."

Imrahil arches a brow, "What mean you with your own blood?"

Aiesha turns, hearing the lady Charystra's voice, now on the outskirts of the crowd. She watches, though a trace of her former anger still remains in her eyes.

Charystra lifts one hand, revealing a pale scar against her fair palm, "I guess thou hast not heard. Nights past, the tree...was watered with my blood, and with Lord Beladan's....some I know do think this foolish, tis one thing which I can do to honor those who died. I keep their memories alive in song, but this also I would offer."

Imrahil waits for Charystra to continue.

Illiana gasps softly, her emerald eyes widening

Analdin turns to leave, a final and almost relieved look upon his face, but is also cought by the Lady Charystra's words. His full, silent attention is given to her as she speaks, curiousity shining in deep blue eyes.

Sanos turns and watches Charystra voice out.

Charystra's green eyes are clear, "Lord Beladan..and I..both of us have sworn to honor those who've died, each year with a price such as this....tis but one thing we can do to remember those who've paid for our freedom. He and I did speak of this, for we wished to offer such tribute to those recently dead at evil hands, if thou wilt allow it my lord Prince."

Imrahil nods, "So be it Lady, do as thou must."

Rhyssia stops from returning to her tent to watch the Lady Charystra. Her eyes go wide as she speaks.

Aiesha gasps also, though she remains on the outskirts of the crowd, she listens to the Lady Charystra's next words, curiousity now the only emotion plainly visible.

Charystra nods and curtsies fluidly, "I thank thee lord Prince. I was not certain thou wouldst grant my request, for I feared thou might see it as useless and foolish as some do." she looks at Beladan, with a soft smile, moving towards the tree with a simple grace, noble in bearing as she kneels softly, drawing a dagger which rests beneath her belt.

Sanos listens carefully to Charystra's words, as a smile spreads apon his face as her wishes are permited and a joy fills his face.

Beladan nears the tree in the centre of the grounds and, kneeling quickly, draws his hand over his exposed blade. He makes a fist and shakes the drops of blood feely upon the soil at the tree's base.

Illiana lays her fingers against her throat as she watches the blood of her love and her friend fall

Ildamir leaves the Dol Amroth pavilion searching the area for anything of interest

Charystra draws the dagger across her palm, her own fist closing to let the blood fall upon the soil, mingling with Beladan's there. Green eyes are clear and shining, as she rises to her feet, and leans over, a sisterly kiss brushed against

Beladan's cheek as she turns to face the crowd, her hand yet dripping as she keeps it closed

Illiana moves from the crowd to join them at the tree

Imrahil nods slowly and solemnly as he watches the proceedings.

Sanos sits still, waiting for the first movments of the crowd.

Beladan smiles and stands, looking to Charystra before raising his sword in salute and bowing before the tree, and turning, bows to Imrahil.

Analdin steps slowly over to stand next to Sanos, his bright eyes still curiously on the pair before the tree.

Rhyssia moves over to where the Lady Charystra and the Lord Beladan stand. She asks softly 'M'lady, M'lord will either of you need those cuts tended too?"

Illiana smiles at the two, her eyes shining with tears of pride in the honor of her betrothed and the Lady, her friend

Sanos recognizes Analdin come forth to him and he gives a short salute quickly replying, "My Lt. I wish you congratulations on your place of second."

Charystra keeps her hand clenched shut as she walks through the crowd once more, head held high and with gentle pride as she gets a scarf to bind about her palm for the moment, approaching Illiana with a soft smile

Imrahil bows to Beladan slowly and with dignity and then says, "To all, here and before: fare you well."

Sanos gives a short bow in respect, but he is unnoticed in the large crowd.

Aiesha watches Beladan and Charystra, not knowing what to think.

Illiana murmers softly to Charystra, "Twas beautiful my friend, as thou art, both in heart and appearance" she gently kisses Charystra's cheek

Charystra turns her head to offer Lady Rhyssia a soft smile, "I thank ye for the offer, but clean linen to bind it is all I will need I think m'lady." she looks to Imrahil for a long moment, giving a curtsies which may go unnoticed and gently turns to try and hug Illiana, murmuring, "I thank thee my friend....tis one thing I can do to repay the price they paid and to honor them as well..."

Illiana smiles and hugs the lady

Analdin gives Sanos a smile, and a nod, "Thank you, Sanos," he says quietly, his attention roaming over the bustling crowd. Yet, after a few moments, he hobbles off away from the yonger man and towards the healers tent, his balance a bit more off than earlier.