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Tinurendis regales those gathered about the campfire with a Mirkwood tale about a silly recruit, not realizing the recruit in question was one of those present.
Limiriel rubbed her gloved hands together; eyes narrowed as she watched Thendryt slowly make his way through the deep snow from her perch high up in a snow-laden pine. The surly man’s heavy footsteps jarred the silver night. She wrinkled her nose in a disdainful sneer and leaned back against the trunk.
Men.
How many lives had been destroyed at the dishonour, disloyalty of Men? They had brought death to the Eldar and the Naugrim and to those of their kind that defied the curse of the Lesser Race.
She snarled silently and sat up again, spear in hand.