Oldgrove

Thamas Lorn, 44th day of Echuir

Such a gathering! To see so many folk of the star together. I do not know how long it has been since we met in such a number. I should ask Oldgrove - he prides himself on history. Perhaps he will recall it.

A gathering by chance at the shore of the lake at Tinnudir, though Adunzil and I had hastened there at Filrean's call some days earlier. A hard fast ride for me. The pain that results from so many hours in the saddle, offset by the thrill and ease of movement that being a-horse always brings.

Everythin' is going ter ruin and misery. I aint got no friends, an' Gyth says Wine is her protector now. She wants everythin', she does. She'm already got Bawde, an her Burnt Man... an' now she got Aefenwine too... it aint bloody fair.

All is well. The haunted ruins of the Betrayed City lie far to the north, the aelf thralls bound by aelf words and aelf stars remain unawares in the Ashen Town and I am safe, safe in the Inn in Comb.

Steora will be filled with pride  to hear how cleverly  I slipped out from under their very noses beneath the cover of darkness. 'Scared of your own shadow, Gyth!", she always says. She'll change her tune when she hears how swiftly I rode Heofonfyr south, alone through the wilds, to warn him - my Mentor.

Tavern - voices rumble up through the floorboards. The indistinct muffle pierced again and again by a bellowing laugh, some snatches of a merry fiddle-tune, friendly cat-calls.

heh.

That went better than i could have hoped for.

Duresen't start out well, though. Master Oldgrove brings me ter the Bridgetown... an' up pops more of them grim northerners ... and then... that old bastard hisself, the helm-giffer. I realises master Oldgrove is an even better liar than me.

'You be safe with me lass' he says.

Aldúya, 52nd day of Lasse-lanta

Anor tarries less now in the skies above Imladris, and the clear starlit nights grow longer; soon Hrívë will be upon us, and the stars will truly light the earth longer than the Sun!

Even now, Imladris is bedecked with a carpet of rich brown and gold, as the trees shed their raiment and settle into their long slumber.

Wherever I go on this island, them big grim lads is watchin'. iffen it aint master oldgrove its some other lad, starin' with them grey eyes, like wolves watchin' a new born foal. Aint much ter do at this lake-hold iffen they'm all watchin yer. So there aint much point stayin', and Oldgrove he'em keen ter be off back ter Brig bewiccan. I got ter find Gyth, and bawde... an' we got ter get into the dead town.