Friends, duty, honour. He owed each criteria his effort, and spread his time accordingly. Except that there was no time. Time was wasting away, rotting like a carcass. Who stole it? Frodo hadn’t a clue. He was a good sir, a captain of nobility and a shepherd of morality. He was not prejudice, insane, or clueless, and yet still there was something missing from his heart. And he hadn’t the time to seek what he looked for. Or the will to find the right path to take. Could a man search for something he had lost, when he didn’t know what is was he had lost in the first place? He devoted time for duty; his pack was his main priority and he regularly hunted for it without pause for breath, and his honour had blossomed in itself too. He was learning to defend himself in close, hand-to-hand combat. And Frodo was getting good at that, very good. He’d thought of himself as a coward, before. A bow was a coward’s weapon. One could sit up a tree and shoot down his enemies without getting a single blow in return. But Frodo would always love his bow. However, friends was something he’d never really thought about. He’d been a loner most of his life, and frankly, most people found him weird. But he had friends, now. In his pack especially, but outside of it too, and his mind reached out to every individual.

He remembered the ones he would rather not see again, and ones that he’d love to, and had promised to see once more. The latter greatly outweighed the former, thankfully, and so he devised a list in his head. And of course, it was Naniko he thought of among with others, but Naniko he decided to see first. He remembered her face clearly, and her sleek white fur, the braid tied into her long hair. Frodo remembered the cuts on her thigh after the bear attack. It was like seeing blood on snow. The contrast of red on white always made him shiver. But he carefully avoided thinking about her like that. It would do his morals no good. Though he still couldn’t think of the lady as a whole. He didn’t know all that much about her really, and only knew they had formed friendship simply because circumstances forced them to flee…together. He knew her daughter, though. He knew Caprica well. After all, he had taught her to ride. And she’d even stayed with him in AniWaya for a good portion of time. For educational purposes, of course. He’d kept their relationship strictly professional, however they had parted as friends.

Naniko must be a good mother, Frodo knew that. He didn’t know much about Caprica’s personal life and history - so he just assumed she’d been raised by Naniko, and thought she’d turned out very well. And a good mother was a good lady, and he stuck to his guns at that point. And of course, she was a leader! That had to count for something. Frodo grinned and he imagined them becoming close friends. He could definitely live with that, he felt as if they’d be good friends. It had been so easy talking to her before. But then again, Frodo chattered non-stop to almost everybody. But as Frodo thought about lots of things, tangled up in his web of a mind, he told himself to stop thinking. If it was possible. And why was he thinking so much about Naniko, anyway? They were friends, and he’d be relaxed, and he was simply going to visit her. But no matter what he told himself, the young man kept thinking of tall, cold lady’s with long braids and blood-on-snow, and it was infuriating.

He actually even had a little present for her. Frodo was no craftsman, but his hands were skilled, that was for sure. He’d made her a bow. From early winter, using the elk-hide from a hunt, he had made a pack to put his belongings in; as the list was growing bigger every moon; and snuggled safely inside was a beautiful tool. His own deep red bow was strung over his shoulder, as always, and so was his quiver. The bow he’d made for Naniko was of similar structure to his own, but different timbers, bleached a fine white and sawed smooth, sleek, and gentle to the touch. It was subtle and supple, and delicate, but the strings were strong and it would bring down game just like his own did. Absently, he ran a finger down the curves of his own bow and wondered whether Naniko would even know how to use the weapon. If not, well, he could teach her. If she accepted, of course!

Frodo was actually riding on down through Halifax, straight down through shops and houses. He’d never seen the old town up close before, it was intriguing. A dark blue leather shirt was on his front, laced at the collar, and he had on him a flowing cloak, as always. The hood on the cloak was up, for once. It covered his golden-streaked face, and made him look somewhat mysterious. Though he was far from it. Frodo was just about one of the most open people you could meet. The youth ran a hand through his ginger hair and tucked it back, further behind the hood, before squeezing his horse on. It was a long journey from AniWaya to Anathema, and he doubted they’d get there any time soon. There was no time for dillydallying. He planned to get to her by another day's ride. Though he wasn't really familiar with Anathema...yet he knew Inferni was close to it, and he'd been there twice. Although he'd rather not think about the second meeting. Shaking his head, the man gently inhaled and uncoiled his muscles, falling lazy under the early morning breeze.