It is the first time she has seen real evidence of Caranthir's legendary temper, of him living up to his name. Haleth does not flinch. In other circumstances she would find it interesting, but not when she is, indirectly, the cause.

Not that she thinks for a moment his rage is aimed at her. Still, anger transforms him, and for the first time he seems a being uncanny--not merely taller and more beautiful, but other. Even so, while there is some discomfort in her, there is no fear, and her disquiet is only because she dislikes upsetting him, however unavoidable.

But the tale is told now, and she waits in silence as he reacts, as the deadly tension clenched in him finds some small outlet in a curse and a blow. A small, feral smile touches her mouth at his response. "He was." There is a grim satisfaction in the words. "His death was neither quick not clean, I promise you."

For all her pragmatism, Haleth is not without a bloodthirsty streak, it is clear. But for now she looks back at Caranthir, her gaze once more thoughtful and measuring, as it usually is. "I have decided," she says, without further preamble. "I will take my people West, to lands held by no sons of Fëanor." She need not say why. They both know how the Oath presses on him, and that she agrees his own lands are too near the Enemy's front lines, even if she were willing to lessen her own sovereignty. "Allies against the Enemy I hope we are and will remain in the future, but for now the Haladin must rebuild. We will leave in the spring."