Eomer saw the lone figure and horse in the distance, and raised his hand in greeting. Ten soldiers accompanied him as they rode, and as they drew closer, the horselord took note of the woman, and wondered…she was an elf. Each gallop forward, he noticed something new; she was from Mirkwood, he assumed, and she rode…alone? Odd in this time.
“Hail, traveler!” he called, and waved slowly. “What do you in Rohan, my lady? It is far from any elven land, and we are in dangerous times.”
She stilled her horse with sweet words and pressure from her thighs. The sun graced them all with clear lighting of the other as Tauriel raised an open hand in regards to the riders before her.
Humans were always an interesting lot, given the opportunity she would seize communication to know all about them. Whether the climate affects them, what food and drink they prefer, how they harvest crops to just about anything. She hoped to seize this opportunity.
“I have not faced an age in this world where it has not been of dangerous time.”
It was her humor that caused her lips to press together in a thin upward line, her eyes roving from the one who spoke to her, to the others who flanked him. He seemed to check out as the one in charge for not only did he speak first without command but it felt like the men he rode with accompanied him, he did not accompany them. “I am a traveler from the Northern Woodlands – Mirkwood,” it hurt to even voice the word, “I come on my own bidding, wishing to see outside of my world.”