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Written for Altariel's birthday and posted at HASA. She asked for Faramir and luck or fate.
Faramir stretched the linen bowstring between his hands, searching for frayed threads; then he drew its length across the block of wax. The waterfall's damp breath soon ruined their gear.
When his kit was made ready, he unfurled a map from its oilcloth covering. Again he considered the tidings of the scouts, were it wisdom or folly to hazard this chance. Then he called the chosen men. Standing before him, they repeated their orders; he questioned each closely until he was certain they understood the plan.
After the ambush, the rangers would say, "Our Captain has indeed the soldier's luck."
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