 | The summons I had, earlier, were brief, yet had good intent. The Lady called to me, and I went to her; and we talked. Of matters, I cannot put the quill to. We spoke long, and as dawn arose; she left me to ponder on what was said. Still, now as I write, I do so, and wonder. But always, my mind travels back to my beloved. Yes, we spoke of her, also... There is an unearthly cool breeze, in the air; now. I shiver, and my hand quakes. Mirkwood, it grieves. If I close my eyes, and listen across the Anduin, I can hear the sounds of conflict from Afar. I long to return, there; but I am tasked elsewhere. Yet, I long also to return to my beloved. For now, I shall lay aside the pen; and wander. I feel at unease. I require strength, now; and wish to look upon the mound of Rosloch, my forebear. I will write, as it is done so. |
