Days passed. The Novaana and Otherworlders trained with weapons. Galadriel's previous experiance with the compound bow had not given her the muscles needed for the longbow. Dispite Ezra’s boast about becoming the best fighter, Trav could defeat him four times out of five because of her extra experience.

One morning, Galadriel awoke early. The Black Wolves were coming today. The excellant breakfast turned to ashes in her mouth. She left the hall early in search of the steward who was going to die. She couldn't save him, but maybe she could warn him.