Little Rose

Many years ago, in the distant land of Rhûn...

Sarnai walked quietly outside her parents' tent, her steps near silent despite the heavy riding boots she wore. She could hear voices, and what sounded very much like utterances of her name- and she hated it when people talked about her behind her back. While eavesdropping was one thing she was always told to refrain from, she had also been raised to talk about people in their presence. Stepping closer to the entry flap of the tent, Sarnai closed her eyes to sharpen her other senses, and listened.

Long ago, in the distant land known in the Sindarin tongue as Rhûn...

Sitting atop her bed in the Warhorse Inn, Sarnai turned a wooden object in her hands. It was a crude, if artistically made wooden sculpture of a wagon. She held it up to her window, allowing the late-afternoon light streaming through the glass to illuminate its surface so that she could see it more clearly. After a few moments of adjusting the angle at which she held the object and squinting to see more clearly, Sarnai gently laid it down on the bedspread.