Curumaito

“We should visit the grave, should we not?” said Estarfin. 

“Yes. We go to see Aearlinn’s grave first,” I replied. 

The final visitor of that day arrived after sunset. The clear sky was ablaze with the glory of Tintalle’s creations as she rode into Numenstaya, set about stabling her mare, and found us all in the Great Hall. 

The late afternoon of the fourth day saw me ride into Celondim. I wanted to pick up a few resources from my house, and speak with the stone mason. As fortune would have it, a patrol was just passing Numenstaya and I joined them. Lelyaro has been to visit Barahirn, and spoke encouragingly to him. He was not to be concerned about the horses; there was someone on their way to act as temporary stable hand. The job would still be his if and when he wanted it.

It was the afternoon of the fourth day when the first of our visitors arrived.

I tell others I am a little old village healer. It is true. I am quite short for a son of the Noldor, I am older than most now, one born in the First Age, I have lived through a lot of sorrow. Sometimes I feel the weight of the years upon me and speak with my wife Alimiel about taking ship. Our son and his family, and our youngest daughter and her family are already in the Undying Lands. Our eldest daughter remains.

He lay on his back. His eyes would have been staring at the sky, if he could have opened them. One was already a swollen mess, mind-numbing pain shooting from it that he was sure he was blind. The other eye he could open just a crack, though he could not make out much of anything. His whole body ached and burnt with pain. He tried to focus his thoughts away from the pain to listen to the Men’s harsh voices and understand what they were arguing about.