A lone horse slowly clops down the Great East Road, its rider lost in reverie, eyes focused on the horizon but seeing nothing. His age is indeterminate, his frame and suppleness in the saddle suggest that he still possesses youth whilst the careworn face and hollow, bag lined eyes do not. His thoughts seem to return to the present and he looks around, seeing for the first time the looming presence of Weathertop to the north.
He notices the small encampment, directs his horse over to the fire and dismounts. He meets eyes with the stranger sitting by the fire and he glances over his armour.
"Heya, man of the north, this is not a land to travel alone, do you mind if I share your camp?"
He unloads his saddlebags and as he leans over to place them on the ground a neck chain slides out from under his shirt, bearing a silver token. He glances at the stranger and sees recognition. He seems to relax and moves towards the stranger, extending his hand in friendship.
"I am Eidar, once rider of the mark, now it seems though that I will ride in different company."