For so long, the elves of Middle-earth have sought the Ships shaped like swans and sailed over the Sea; for Gwael, that's always been the way. Stories of mighty hosts that set fear in the hearts of their foes are naught but stories, anymore, fading like a flower. She's read of the follies of the First Age, of the splendours of the Second Age, of the threats of the Third Age. She's heard of the fights and the flights, of those who lived and loved, of those who dreamed and died.
But the words of the wanderers towards the West speak of a Shadow, and the strongholds wherein those mighty among Eledhrim still dwell.
That brings us to now, and the journey Gwael of the Falathrim chose to embark upon, one fair evening as the stars were bright in the sky.
