Elrohir was watchful. He was on guard against any attack, taking his turn at defending the Dúnedain camp.

From his position, he could still hear the Men behind him as they talked and sang before bed. The songs were old and good, and he hummed softly along with them. The smell of their pipeweed hung in the air, but it was not so overpowering he would miss the stink of an Orc, should one come close.

He smiled. He had enjoyed their company, but he was glad of the solace, away from the bustle at the end of the day.