Sarmetecil

Long had Arradril been thinking -- or so it seemed to her -- over the question of what sort of gift she might find or make for Branalph, survivor of the ruin of Nargothrond and lately recruit of the Order of the Hammer. It was merely polite, after all. He had given her the pretty purple feather that reminded her of younger days. So etiquette, for surely that was all that it was, would seem to demand some sort of token in return.

Manadhlaer sighed, not for the first time that day, or that hour. She dipped her quill and made another attempt:

It has been widely known since the Elder Days that the sap of an unopened poppy...

Instantly she stopped and put a line through her words. "If it has been widely known," she said aloud, "why write it at all?" One of her delicate silken slippers, as light as an Elfling's first breath, had already gone. She kicked the other against the far wall of her office and began again.

Greetings Lady Himwen,

There isn't much time so I'll get to the point as fast as I can. I am staying around Sarmëtecil for the time being, unless you have other orders for me.