Restless, the Elf looks up from her carving and towards the west, to the fading sunlight in a sky of vibrant pinks and oranges. After a long moment, the bow stave, unfinished, is placed aside with a sigh as she turns away from it and towards a table, on which rests an untouched glass of wine, a candle, and a little, long-neglected notebook, bound in leather and fastened with a cord. After a long, thoughtful sip and a glance over the mountains in the distance, Nínimil picks up both the boo
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