Image credited to Shalizeh | Source
Short was my time in the Elvenking's domain, deep within the twisted roots of Taur-e-Ndaedelos, and even so, feeling the sweet sun-drenched breeze upon my face as I emerged into the Vales of Anduin settled my disposition. Perhaps that was why, as I realized I was not alone on my untrodden path, I was bold enough to tread the lowlands that belonged to the kinsmen of the skin-changer, Beorn.
Harskrin was not unique to his people, but he was a glimpse of something utterly unknown for me. I felt troubled when I first watched his arms and shoulders grow with a fury I had not beheld before in Man or beast, as he was neither and both in body and heart. His callous nature was frustrating at times, and never admirable, but endearing in ways I still struggle to understand. To say he had courage is not entirely the truth either, for how could a bear that fears naught have such a thing? Yet, he drives on with fire in his chest, his voice and despite his foolhardy ways, his ardor never did lead him astray.
Mm, you see now my perplexity in knowing him, and still not knowing how to think of him.
It has been some years since I have been in his company, I would not expect he has changed overly. Like a stout oak whose roots will break through stone paths again and again, as Men die and Elves fade, the wilderness in him will never bow to the passage of time.
It is not often I find myself looking back at an escapade into a goblin-infested ruin, but if I do, it is because of him that I may find some small reason to smile, and scowl.
