HARRY POTTER:The Witness of the First Breaths

He turned slightly, and in the pale moonlight, Aragorn could make out more details: the black hair falling in strands around his face, the large hunting knife hanging beside the sword sheathed in its leather scabbard. He continued, still as discreet as before: "Calion, the 81st."

The name echoed in Aragorn's mind, but he gave nothing away. The silence stretched between them, the air thick with unasked questions. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he responded with a slight nod. "Why do you help me, Calion?"

Calion remained still, his eyes assessing Aragorn as if weighing the weight of each word to come. After a long pause, he answered in a voice barely louder than a breath: "It is best not to be alone... in these places." A pause, as if he carefully considered each word before speaking. "For now, I watch. The rest will come... in due time."

A silence settled once more, the forest noises reclaiming their place. An owl hooted in the distance, and the leaves trembled under a light breeze. Aragorn continued to observe the stranger, his mind alert, but part of him sensed that, for now, this man was not an enemy. Calion turned back, gesturing the way forward with a hand, and Aragorn, still wary, chose to follow him.

They moved forward together, their steps merging with the rustle of fallen leaves. The aura of mystery surrounding Calion only grew, but something about his walk, his silent presence, suggested that, despite the shadows around them, they walked, for the moment, on the same side.

Sunlight pierced through the canopy of leaves, casting golden glimmers on the carpet of fallen leaves. The light breeze carried the scents of the forest, blending the smell of damp moss with the resinous odor of pine trees. Aragorn, crouched behind a bush, watched the movement of a deer a few dozen paces ahead. The animal, ears raised and nose in the air, appeared wary, aware of intruders.

To his left, Calion stood still, bow drawn, an arrow ready to be loosed. His eyes focused on the deer's shoulder, where the heart beat, protected by a thin layer of muscle and bone. Ten years had passed since their meeting in the Old Forest, and their bond had become as natural as the flow of a river. Aragorn didn't need to speak to understand his companion's intentions; every glance, every nod, was a silent word.

The deer made a sudden movement, raising its head. Calion, his green eyes catching the light, held his position, waiting like a shadow. Aragorn lifted his hand slightly, signaling not to shoot just yet. The prey hesitated, its muscles tensed. Silence stretched, broken only by the light rustle of leaves above them.

Finally, with a precise gesture, Calion released the bowstring. The arrow sliced through the air and struck the deer's shoulder, piercing its heart. The animal leapt before collapsing, its fall softened by the moss-covered ground. Silence returned, and Aragorn stood slowly, a satisfied smile on his lips. Calion, still silent, lowered his bow, his eyes scanning the surroundings before approaching their catch.

They moved towards the fallen deer together, and Aragorn placed a hand on Calion's shoulder, a gesture that had become familiar between them. "A fine shot, well aimed," he murmured. Calion simply nodded, a discreet smile on his lips, his green eyes briefly lost in the dappled light.

Aragorn observed his companion, once again noticing the apparent youthfulness that never left his features. Time seemed to have no hold on him, a fact that had troubled him at first, but one he had come to accept, just as he accepted the mysteries Calion kept to himself.

They knelt by the deer to prepare it. Calion, with precise movements, began the task while Aragorn assisted, his hands following a rhythm learned over the years. This silent ritual had repeated itself hundreds of times, and each time, they acted in perfect synchrony, without exchanging a word.

As they finished, a sharp cry echoed from a bird hidden high above. Calion stood, his ears attuned, eyes scanning the area. Aragorn paused, his senses immediately on alert. Calion slowly raised his hand, a gesture of warning. Aragorn crouched, mirroring his companion's movement, his eyes scanning the shadows.

"A boar, perhaps," he murmured as he adjusted his stance, aware that such creatures could be as dangerous as hungry predators. Calion remained silent, but his eyes shone with a new intensity. They knew these woods well and understood that even the slightest misstep could betray them.

The forest noises resumed, a branch cracking followed by the rustling of leaves. Calion narrowed his eyes, muscles taut. He crouched down, his fingers brushing the ground, analyzing each sound with the precision only rangers possessed. The shadows shifted, but nothing seemed to draw closer.

"It might have sensed our presence," Aragorn continued, watching the tension in Calion's body. "Or perhaps a wolf." He fell silent, waiting for Calion to give a signal.

Calion's gaze, fixed and piercing, scanned the depths of the undergrowth. His fingers brushed the handle of his large hunting knife, which he kept at his belt as a subtle assurance. Then, finally, he relaxed slightly and slowly stood. "Nothing close." His words were few but sufficient.

They remained still for a moment, listening to the ambient sounds, until Calion gestured for them to continue. Aragorn nodded silently, and they lifted the deer to continue on their path. As they walked, Aragorn recalled another time when they had tracked a wounded boar through the forest. Calion, with impressive skill, had lured it into a natural trap formed by roots and thorns, sparing them from having to confront the beast head-on.

"Do you remember that boar near the Ash River?" Aragorn said as they walked, a smile tugging at his lips.

Calion nodded, a glint of mischief crossing his eyes. "It was more stubborn than this one," he replied simply.