Finrod explained the vision he had had, detailing the locations and… *a magical embrace*. Lyra stared, incredulous, and she was almost certain a blush crept onto her face, despite her dark complexion. “Well,” she sputtered, “I guess we know where we’re off to. That Inn must be our first stop, after Whiterun.” 

He shifted gears, focusing on their supply run, and let go of her hand. Lyra cast her eyes downward, a bit embarrassed. “Supplies. Right.” 

She stood, avoiding Finrod’s gaze as she gathered up the rest of her things, spreading the coals of the fire to let it dissipate safely. Without waiting, she made her way back toward the cliff they’d scaled to get up to this clearing in the first place. She would miss this place, she thought, in all its serene tranquility. The climb up had been surprisingly easy — but climbing back down seemed surprisingly daunting. “I don’t suppose you could magically teleport us back down?” she called out to Finrod, tilting her head as she tried to calculate the best route, how she would keep her footing without slipping down to her death.