Eleanias

Tancamir sat crouched with his back to the wall of the ruin, fire crackling in the distance. Before him lay a worn but clean piece of parchment, as well as a battered leather-bound journal covered in scrawling notes. He sighed.

Green blades of grass caressed the elleth's bare feet as she walked across the clearing before swaying back into their upright stance as if no one had passed by. The mellyrn leaves high above in the canopy changed the lighting of the forest floor and illuminated the strains of gold in her hair. For once, it was not held up close to her ears with tiny jeweled pins and ornaments. Only starry white flowers graced the crown of her head, as her long tresses freely cascaded down her back.

She had been planning to go rejoin her old patrol for this, their final night in the forest. She knew they were still near enough to reach, to the North of their planned stop - Erion's failed attempt at a signal had told her as much, and she'd appreciated their careful eyes keeping watch over her progress, as she led the healers back to Echad Sirion. The paths they'd told her about made the journey entirely quiet – only a single warg scout had interrupted their travel, and Caethel had dispatched that easily enough.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, bathing the ruins in a soft red glow. Its rays gave some final warmth before the darkness of the night took over. Gwingris was more occupied today than usual with a group of travelers who had just come from Imladris. They sat beside the fire now, sharing its warmth and a kettle of herbal tea. Some of them had stepped aside to stand watch or speak with the inhabitants of Gwingris. At this time, Eliriael broke away from the group quietly and inquired into borrowing writing instruments and the use of a messenger bird.

 The watchful eyes of the lone sentry found her as soon as she stepped out from the shadows of the trees, but he only nodded, eyes flicking to the stitched mark of her company on her arm, and gestured for her to pass.

As she moved closer, one corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile, and he remarked: “You're getting sloppy, Cae. Saw you coming from miles away.”

Oh, Diary! How long have I been unwilling to touch your pages, to record what has really happened?

It appears I do not have to cook much today. There are still much food after the feast of unveiling Anglachelm's portrait, and I have to get yet rid of some of it, somehow.