Eira

The wight stood several feet away, having stopped to look around. Eira waited, hoping it would go away. Instead, a bitterly cold and vile voice arose from it, icy eyes narrowing, "You cannot hide, mortal."

How long had she wandered?

The fog never ceased, and the night was never ending. Carefully placing her walking stick before of her every step, she meandered the endless, rolling hills and barrow mounds. Only the occasional stone peer broke the scenery of fog, grass, and rolling mounds. She was hastily losing track of the time as she walked on and on.

          “To answer these, and all questions you have," Seregrían began, "requires thought and lore. I do not deem it mere chance we encountered each other, especially following hard on your discovery. Fate may be walking with you.  Now tell me this: the name of your birth, Sari Mora? What is its meaning, in your mother's tongue?”

          “I was born to a woman named Sara Mosa," Eira began.  "My name was Sari Mosa. Tell me, Seregrían, have you ever heard of the Nurnhoth?'

Converging Chances

Scholar’s Walk Hostel, Bree

33 Tuilë in the Reckoning of Imladris