One hour before dawn. She still had not slept a wink. The fire had gone out long before, and the sky had started to turn dark grey, then blueish grey and ever lighter. The birds were almost about to wake. And she had finally left her office to pack her belongings. Always at the last minute. But there were other important things to do before.
Such as dealing with correspondence. Lord Tindir had informed her earlier in the day that his whole entourage of Hammers would join them this time. So be it, she had thought. At least they would not have time to break many doors while they were away. However, they all needed some schooling still, and as such, they would have to follow orders just as strictly as any other in the Hammer order.
That was something comforting to her. She would know where they were, and lord Tindir would keep an eye out so that they did not stray too far from the path. She suspected that Earcalie might help out in that, which was perfectly fine.
Oh yes, the correspondence. Tingruviel smiled again, re reading the letter she had recieved from Naergon. The fact that a Hammer could appreciate a poem so full of passion... Many thought they were just lumbering fools, with a penchant for fire and smashing. Yet, there were the more gentler souls amongst them, who would think twice before acting and who would write creative texts for their fellows. The poem* was good, excellent even. That he had remembered it for so long, must mean that it itself carried some enlightening context for him. And perhaps it would for them as well. In any case, just like with Golvagors finely wrought blade, the gifts would be great in essence, if not in numbers.
It was thoughtful of the Hammer to think of them, and to make certain that she recieved it in time before leaving. And who could refute its insistant chorus? Home, home, home... who, in the end, did not want to return home?
*Link to the poem.
