Parnard

Elloen was still in Lórien, and once again a guest to his uncle Feamiril and aunt Linnen, sitting next to the table in his thoughts, though he didn't have much time, since he had promised to lady Danel return to his companions soon.

As I wait, the sun slips slowly down behind the trees, so that the leaves blush with rosy light. I light the lamps myself, kindling each small flame one by one. In the gathering darkness, the stone maiden stares out into the distance she cannot see, one hand always reaching out, expression lost in shadow. I sit cross-legged on the soft grass, listening to the sound of the waterfall just a few feet away. It doesn't completely mask the approaching footsteps, but I do not turn until I feel the hand drop lightly to my shoulder.

The shrill cry of a hawk pierces the cold morning air before the bird itself comes into view. It is dark brown with a golden beak, and it begins to circle lower and lower, down from the mountain peaks. Finally, with hardly a sound it lands nearby, a thin roll of parchment clasped in one clawed foot.

Suilad Lady Danel,

Elloen woke up early, since he could not sleep well. He was lying uncomfortably on the ground as others around him prepared for the departure, and he rose up. Danel seemed still concerned about Estarfin, as was Elloen. Except for a one strange answer Estarfin already seemed to have a clear mind, though he would not have anything to drink or eat.

I am not entirely sure whether Parnard drives me to amusement or madness.

He sits here even now, stitching away, as is his wont. I have tried a number of times to make out the depiction of the threads but to no avail. They seem to be a cluster of colours to my eyes. Doubtless he sees things differently.

Now that I have mentioned him previously, I feel it is only proper to write his entry. I am of course talking of Estarfin. That angry, sorry soul who even now sits there, brooding.
There are many (Parnard chief among them) who dislike Estarfin. More likely they fear him, for he is a grim fellow. A great looming presence, all dressed in black with his great war-spear in his hand. Perhaps even I might be wary of him if I did not count him as my brother.

The dusk had arrived and Elloen was camping with the others at the Redhorn gate. He looked at his companions while he laid himself down, waiting for the sleep to arrive.

He looked at Rainith and her bare feet, which now were at the level of his eyes. A faint smile got in his lips because she was always thus which made her seem very casual to him, but now they were at the root of Caradhras, and she would have to lay her feet on the snow. Elloen felt a bit silly that he didn't bring any spare pair of shoes.

What do I know about the Lady Rainith? Now that I try to recall her, actually very little, yet in the short time that we have spent together I feel that she has become more open to me, or at least less close. Perhaps this is not the opportune time to write these 'observations', for I am sure that along the way I will learn more about all of my companions. For better or worse.

Estarfin sat with his back resting against the holly tree as he wrote feverishly. The quill was almost a blur as it scratched almost illegible Tengwar script onto the pale parchment. His face was in shadow under the bright moonlight as he had pulled his hood to cover his hair and wrapped his thick black cloak about himself. Occasionally he paused and re-read the words that he had written, a look of confusion upon his face as he quickly crossed out whole sections of the text. He would then stare at one of the others, waiting for them to look at him before looking away quickly.