[center][img]http://rp.alexarnold.ca/indrau/indrau_p.png[/img] [/center] Indrau was the last to mount his horse, hurrying to catch up to the rest of the group. As he rode, he looked down at his sheathed blade. He didn’t feel humbled, as a third born son he had never thought highly of himself, but for the second time in his life he felt inadequate, like he had let down those around him. [i]Silence[/i], a masterpiece of runic magic built by his own hands, was unequal to the task at hand. He rode up next to Tyeathe, unbuckling his sword belt. Indrau held the sheathed blade out to her with a grim, almost pained look on his face. “I fear I may be equal to the task ahead. This might be better in your hands.”