My dearest Norlië:
I hope you can read my cramped writing on this tiny parchment, and that Lille's eagle finds you in relative safety.
The little scholar gave me the dried mushroom sample. I brewed as potent an infusion as I could with part of this, and while the archer slept, I rubbed it with infinite gentleness below her tongue and in the lining of her cheeks. Since I began this treatment, she can now stand with assistance, and shuffle a few steps like-wise, but I would be lying if I said she had regained her strength. Still, the mushroom in combination with previous measures seems to offer the greatest hope of any thing so far. Perhaps when we have a fresh sample...
A warrior I had not seen before came to the Hall of Fire and told a harrowing tale of captivity by Uruks in the Ettenmoors. He said he was felled by an arrow-wound, and that the Uruks poured in it a black liquid, provided by Orc-defilers, which burned awfully -- but now only a faint scar remains, where there had been a deep gash. Losgael of the Hammer, the herbalist Tathlas, and a few others have purposed to go where the warrior said he was taken and, by whatever means, retrieve some of this black liquid. Perhaps the Enemy already has an antidote brewed, and the mushroom is but one ingredient? I fear for gentle Tathlas, no less than I do Elvealin, Eliriael, and yourself. So many go into peril with such pure hearts.
This is all the paper Lille would give me, for I know her message to Fingolrin must also go with the bird, and it will be terse but full of passion. O why do we lose our hearts to Hammers! Only come back safe, Norlië, and we will go back to our lotions and potions, and when the antidote comes, Caun Danel agreed that it should be named for you above any other, for it will surely have your fëa in it. The sight of you returning whole with our dear friends shall do more for me, at least, than any tonic.
Your fretting oath-sister -- Airesarë Celulinda "Manadhlaer"
