Tothrandir

(Written on a tear-stained page of her journal)

Gentlest eyes of ashen grey

Love was in the smile of your lips

Ever selfless, always giving

Even your life, for others

Rest now, in glory

Hailed by your fathers

This world was not worthy

I saw Tothrandir in the market a few days ago. I think he must have seen me and crept up behind me, for I suddenly heard his voice, turned around, and was face to face with him. It's strange, the sight of him sends me immediately back to my early days in Bree, when I was just a lonely, unsure girl who was unbearably smitten with this tall, dark stranger with the gentlest grey eyes I'd ever seen. In a way, I dislike the effect he has on me.

I don't know what to write.

The day is either seeking to comfort or mock me, with its perfect sunshine, green fields, and blossoming trees. 

His presence is a ... 

It's ...

(damp smudges blot the paper here)

What do you do when a ghost suddenly walks the earth again? I grieved like a widow, and I buried my hopes and dreams. Now this spirit, so warm, so inviting, dares come back from the dead. 

I grieved for Lainric, and the thought of him brings me no agony as it once did. Why does he, then?

I've finally found a moment to sit down and put my thoughts to paper once again. The warm, spring sunshine is like a tonic, I find, and there are moments now where I simply sit by the open window, gazing outside, lost in all manner of pleasant thoughts. I suppose the confining nature of winter made me more apt to fill my journal's pages, and now that the land is blossoming and balmy, the blue sky beckons me outside more and more, and the parchment must wait! Though, I did return to work a few days ago, at the stables here in Hookworth, as well as Neyaa's farm.

Yesterday was blessedly peaceful and quiet, free of trouble and tragedy. If only more days could be so. 

How indifferent the world is to one's pain. Another idyllic morning greets her as she steps out of her cottage. Cerulean sky without a trace of clouds. Soft choruses of crickets and sleepily waking birds in the flaming-orange maple tree in the front yard. The waterfall that feeds the lake behind the cottage is a gentle thundering in the background.