As Lyra stirred from the depths of her slumber, she found herself ensnared in the clutches of a nightmare. Images of an ancient ruins bathed in moonlight flickered before her mind's eye, the same ones from the vision -- accompanied by the elusive symbols that danced in the darkness, taunting her with their incomprehensibility. 

But the true terror came when Finrod's visage contorted into a mask of rage, his eyes ablaze with an unfathomable fury. "Traitor!" he hissed to her, the venom in his voice sending shivers down her spine, before he lunged at her, blade drawn, and plunged it into her chest.

With a strangled gasp, Lyra jolted awake, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a frantic drumbeat. The soft hues of dawn cast a soothing glow over the campsite, but the remnants of her nightmare lingered like a sinister shadow, refusing to be banished by the light of day. 

Her eyes darted around in search of Finrod, and upon spotting him, she let out a frustrated grunt and hurled a pebble in his direction, striking him squarely on the arm. "You were supposed to wake me up for second watch," she growled, her anger genuine. What good would they be if they couldn't even keep to a simple watch schedule? 

Scrambling out of her bedroll, Lyra rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her expression etched with frustration and lingering fear. She hastily fathered her bow, her fingers trembling slightly as she checked its string for tension. 

"I need to clear my head," she muttered, "And kill us some breakfast while I'm at it." With that, she set off into the surrounding trees, her steps heavy with unresolved emotions. Though the campsite was small and confined, and she couldn't get far without going back down the mountain, she needed the space to distance herself from the remnants of her dream and the disconcerting image of Finrod's wrathful gaze.