[center][i][h2][color=#dd5419]Calariel[/color][/h2][/i][/center]
The young elven outrider rode north at a gallop atop her warm brown bay horse, her eyes locked upon the horizon. They almost always were, when she was out in the wild. Calariel's irises were fogged over, a light shade of pink, but from the focus she wore on her face, she could see clearly enough. Indeed, even if she couldn't make out the shape of the mount beneath her, the woods in the distance were perfectly clear. She could see a small rabbit making for his hole, frightened by the sound of hooves in the distance. The little creature was perhaps a mile off.

Calariel rode on, her auburn hair and light cloak whipping behind her. She'd reacted to the delivered letter as quickly as she could, but there had been some difficulty. The dove had found her easily enough, and she was able to ascertain from a distance that the bird carried a letter, but sadly, Calariel could not read the words, and thus she had to return to Rivendell, and meet with one of the perimeter guards who was willing to aid her. She forced him to read it twice for her, unsure if her ears had received the message properly. Someone had thought to seek her out personally for aid, on a mission to the north. Farther north than she'd ever been. Calariel was not overly fond of the cold, but this had the air of something important.

Before anyone could attempt persuading her to stay, she was off, having gathered what supplies she expected she would need. Her cloak was clasped with the pin that was sent, identifying her as part of a group. She wondered how many others there would be. If possible, she would need to identify them from afar, but what group would meet in such an open space? There was an undeniable worry. [i]Don't make a fool of yourself...[/i]

Whoever had chosen to contact her obviously had belief in her skill. Calariel had her own sort of quiet confidence as well, but working with strangers and operating in an unfamiliar group was not something she was a natural at. But she had to believe they were good people being called.

The north was not a kind place, she knew. The good people there, well... they were outnumbered.