A Mariner’s Oath

Dry your eyes, my little friends, the sea has salt aplenty,
This old ship will steer you clear, far from every jetty.

(written from Histealdo's pov)

Histealdo glimpsed the new "resident" of the havens standing near a low stone wall, staring at something that seemingly only he could see. He had a couple brief conversations since the young ellon (Naergon he recalled) came to be a semi-permanent resident of his home. He had no objection when his niece asked to host her friend until he made the decision to sail West. He understood, being torn himself for a time after his brother took the ship. 

Earcalie was rummaging in a big, heavy house chest made of oak and lined with iron studs. She seized the small room in the mansion that had once been her father's workshop, still filled with stacked construction materials, half finished projects and other memorabilia. Against one of the walls, a number of shelves hosted a collection of fancy ships inside bottles of various shapes and looks; mostly elven but also a few of old numenorian make and even a Dalish knarr. What Earcalie was searching for however, was none of those.

Forlond bay, a few centuries ago

"Atya, atya look! Look! It flies!" the elfling exclaimed excitedly at the sight of a ship leaving the harbour, gradually gaining speed as it entered open sea. Aicasicil chuckled and patted his daughter's head. "It floats, not flies. Ships float"

"Ships fly! Vingilot flies, you told me the story yesterday!" 

((continuation of Essenya))

Three summers ago, Mithlond

Centuries ago, Forlindon

“Come now ‘Calie, try again!”