The world around him still lingered in a haze as Finrod clung to Lyras' hand. A suspended moment of quietude enveloped them, the air thick with unspoken questions. When Lyras inquired about his vision, Finrod, caught in the delicate threads of the recent revelation, hesitated.

"We... we were walking," he began, his words weaving a tapestry of ethereal landscapes. "I recall the Old Hroldan Inn, it's on the path to Karthspire." The intensity in his voice conveyed a struggle to reconcile the vivid fragments that danced through his mind. "We were at the Inn, and then we stood over the river near Karthspire, a magical embrace, a tranquil calmness that defies explanation. And the voices... I kept hearing voices."

His revelation hung in the air, a delicate confession tinged with a hint of fear. Before the weight of the unspoken could fully settle, Finrod, almost breathless, shifted the focus, "We should set out soon... Supplies are crucial." With a reluctant release, he let go of Lyras' hand, and in that moment, their fingers parted with an almost reluctant tenderness. As he swiftly gathered his belongings from the camp, he turned to her with a subtle yet lingering gaze. "Whiterun is our first stop for supplies. A long day lies ahead of us, but, perhaps, an even longer journey awaits." Finrod glancing at Lyra often when she is not looking, thinking to himself [i]What is going on between us...[/i]