Silver

Winnie sat there, looking at Tarsorel. He wanted to help her get better with being able to be touched and touch, not related to healing. She had spent a long time outlining the problem and how Ryheric had helped her so far. How Silver and Lavendara were helping her be more comfortable with touch. She thought on this, how strange it would seem to an outsider. Being able to be jostled, patted on the shoulder, playful swats or jumps where touch might occur, even comfort at involves touching. It was all she longed for.

Crossing the dusty planes of Udûn was no easy task, even after the battle that was waged before the Black Gate not long ago. The Men of Gondor that I met there used no words too few to try and dissuade me from my cause and I understand now why. This land is still filled with peril, and the peril most apparent is the lack of living things; no shrubberies carrying berries, no clear water streams or game to hunt.

There was something almost melancholy about the scene that lay before Dagramir’s sleepless eyes. Ashaia lay, as she always did, half of her body splayed out on top of him. Her leg draped over his, almost possessive in her sub-conscious. Her arm lay over his abdomen, and his arm lay over her own. Bare of clothes, naught but their bodies and souls left for each other to gaze upon.