Elenathriel had been spending some time in the grove near Falathlorn where it was easy to find a comfortable, grassy area where she could spend a whole day outside. When she was in a generally safe region like this, she often wandered off the main road, following a non-existent path if she happened to see a tree she liked or she thought the hillside would afford a better view. Today, she found a suitable spot she was searching for by listening to the the gentle sound of a stream. Delighted, she led her horse to the water to drink while she removed several bags out of the leather satchel the horse was carrying. Then she sat down and made herself comfortable, arranging the bags neatly around her in a bower under the trees, making a half circle by placing them within easy reach.
It was spring. The weather was balmy, and the air was filled with the constant sound of water flowing and with songbirds frequently joining in. Many of the trees were producing tender leaves in the familiar yellow green color, half transparent in the sunlight. Seeing nature wake up in spring always increased her desire to create something of beauty and be productive in Elenathriel, as if she herself was waking up from the relative calm of the winter season.
She looked at each satchel around her with a thought, then selected one to her right and another next to it to take out what she needed for the day. Among the array of sewing tools she carefully pulled out one by one, she saw the small box that contained her favorite needle, made of solid gold, and she instinctively smiled to herself - it was one of most treasured items. And from the other satchel, she brought out a traveling lap desk made of dark wood, shiny and smooth to the touch to set aside for later.
Soon she began to concentrate on embroidering, pausing only to inspect the current progress or contemplate a new design. She had begun to hum by now, in a quiet voice as she moved her needle back and forth through the fabric in a practiced and methodical manner, tugging the thread snugly but not enough to cause the fabric to wrinkle. From time to time, she moved her lips to murmur a few words like ‘moon’, ‘river’ and ‘sea’ here and there instead of just emitting the notes, the words not uncommon in many Elven songs. But the only phrase she actually could and would sing was “It’s written in the stars”. The rest, it seemed that she either didn’t know or remember though that didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.
Even with no device to track the time with, it passed as it always did, and the day was coming to an end. The light of the golden setting sun shone on the fabric, gently stretched over the small wooden frame as she used the last rays of daylight to finish the embroidery. When the orange and yellow hues of the sky almost disappeared behind the treelines, it was time to stop the needlework and light the candle inside a small lantern she had hung upon a bough earlier that day. Then she extended her hand towards the lap desk and lifted its hinged lid to reveal a journal bound in soft leather and a tightly closed bottle of ink as well as a quill. Her face remained thoughtful during the few moments she briefly reviewed the day’s work, then she proceeded to write the following:
