Having awoken with a bad hangover, and having then
had to suffer the indignity of a sponge bath at the hands
of Master Dínendals assistant, Thorkell bogsveigir
was in no mood to meekly accept another dressing-down from the
March Warden of Eryn Carantaur.
He pushed himself up on his good arm, wincing because the movement
jarred his damaged shoulder, and scowled at the elf. What?
he barked. I did nothing wrong. The cook sent me
down to the riverI found her there, wandering about, all
alonethe Orcs attacked us before I could get her back
Without a word, Haldir laid the Beornings bow and quiver at
the foot of his bed. Then, still saying nothing, he turned and
Thorkell stared at the elfs retreating back. It will
be weeks before I can use them again, he shouted.
He sank back onto his pillow. Apparently.