:What are Melkor's resources and allies: 

"Orcs. The babies've grown and can servantmake. Some Maiar."

:...What are orcs. And Maiar:

"Species Melkor made out of Elves he captured. Mini Valar."

Leareth sighs heavily. 

:I think that answers all my most pressing questions: This is not entirely true, but his head is already spinning from the sheer amount of new information; he feels almost dizzy from it, like gravity is no longer behaving consistently. :I will stop bothering you now: 

And go take about fifty pages of notes, and start trying to figure out where this other world could possibly be - he got a good record of the magic, whatever it was, from the wards and his night sentries' observations; maybe knowing that it corresponds to "teleported from another world, possibly via being eaten by a snake monster" will help him make any sense of it at all... 

He stands up and turns to leave. 

Kib tries to fall asleep.

No one interferes with this plan. Tarla refills his water jug for him and then sits and props her feet up and keeps reading her book. 

This time he sleeps for a much more normal nine hours, then wakes up. Takes some water.

There's a different woman sitting and watching him. She's politely quiet for a couple of minutes, then clears her throat. :I'm going to get you breakfast: 

She is also a Thoughtsenser and is absolutely reading his mind even though Tarla warned her it would be horrible. 

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen (take notes about - do NOT do that! -) fourteen fifteen sixteen...

She brings him a bowl of oat porridge and a hard-boiled egg. Nearly all his injuries are nicely Healed, now, she had lots of boring time overnight to work on that, but he's still very malnourished. :Eat, please: she tells him. 

He doesn't make a fuss about this, he eats the porridge. He's annoyed about having to peel the egg but he does it.

Next time she'll peel his eggs for him, the Healer decides. She smiles at him. :I'm Mara. You're in Velgarth, which as I understand it is a different world from where you are before. I'm sorry no one here speaks your language. We're making sure everyone taking care of you is a Mindspeaker so we can communicate. If you have any questions I can answer them: 

Tarla warned her last night about the nightmares and the screaming, and also told her that he probably wouldn't have questions and would also be certain she was a hallucination, which is pretty disturbing all by itself. 

He doesn't have any questions. He does think she's a hallucination. Thirty thirty-one thirty-two thirty-three. He had a dream about a book Aly read once. That's probably safe - ish - he will reherarse the plot of the book in his head.

She wishes she could give him a book to read, he must be so bored, but of course he won't be able to read anything written in a local language. She watches him sit in bed and count in his head. 

Within ten minutes she's incredibly bored again, and she's tired of the numbers-puzzle she was amusing herself with before, and out of problems she can treat with Healing. She starts singing to herself, quietly; if his thoughts indicate that he finds it irritating she'll stop. 

No, that's - nice, as nice as anything ever is. He can listen to the singing and not think about anything and be a little less bored.

She's nowhere near as good as a mediocre Elf, but she has a decent voice and ear and she can spend the entire rest of her shift singing. 

He does notice she's not as good as an Elf, but oh well.

Leareth is up later than he generally prefers that night, doing magic. It was a short enough interval that he could still just barely cast the exhausting past-watching scry spell with mage-sight, and get more data on whatever landed the young man here and maybe what 'direction' it came from. 

He updates his notes and then collapses into bed. 

With utterly predictable and yet greatly inconvenient timing, he finds himself in an icy expanse, snow blowing in his face, staring across fifty yards of snowbank at a ragged white-clad figure. 

Sigh. "Herald Vanyel." 

"Leareth," Vanyel says tonelessly. He always looks the same amount of worn-down, in terms of his dream appearance, but today his eyes and manner hold a lot more tiredness than they used to. He stands there for a moment, as though debating whether he has the energy to move, and then starts walking. 

"You look tired. The war is treating you unkindly." Leareth casts a heat-spell between them. 

Vanyel rolls his eyes. "It's a war. I think it's treating a lot more people a lot worse than me." 

"The fact that others are suffering as well does not mean you are not." Leareth takes a slow breath, lets it out. "I - have significant news." 

"Oh." Some interest comes into Vanyel's face. He leans forward, looking at Leareth with curiosity, as though all of a sudden actually seeing him. "- You...look like you've - not seen a ghost, that's not right, but something." 

"That sounds approximately correct," Leareth says dryly. "Note that I do not expect you to take my word on this, and I am not sure how much I believe it myself, it is rather implausible and there are many points I wish to confirm."