maiden of tales

The white horse, Wyndafrend, galloped hard and fast towards the orange pine tree objective, as Cwenawynn yelped a laughing objection to Ry.

Wyndafrend was a fine beast, nobly held and wasting very few movements. He gained speed with smooth solidity, the petite Eorling rider and valiant steed from Rohan a mix one who had ever seen the horsemen should know to expect only the best from.

He writes, and re-writes. Letters formal and like a heavy-handed forgery of Nunen's. Eventually, he lets the lines stand in the corner of his water-damaged note book. The thing kept with several short scrawls of writing, practiced letters and many black inked pages with not a shred of room left upon them. The small poems he'd attempted for Cwennie here remain like tiny shots of light, symmetry and order.


"In duty she treads

loss ravaged, her fate to find

Blue as the rich Sea"