Ghost

Leaning back against the trunk of red leafed tree in the garden of the little stone house he'd bought, Mornenion took a sip from his glass of wine. It was a beautiful night, to him. The sky was dark with brewing storm clouds, meaning the moon and the stars were hidden. It was almost like when he was young, in Dorwinion, where the light of the two trees did not reach. That is why he and his people are called the Avari, the Dark Elves, because they never saw the light of the two trees in their full power.

Leothross peered through the darkness trying to make out an object well beyond him. That must be 30 meters, he thought. He took a deep breath, gathered himself, and threw a small  object toward the target with all his might. The object lit up as it flew, spinning wildly, sending flickers of light into the darkness. It hit its target, and blazed brightly for a few moments, illuminating a bare sand bank. It was a perfect spot for practice, he knew. Out, away from civilization, and a comforting view of the land around him.

The Race of Men is fickle... Their minds changing at the slightest whim. Lirita and I would learn this amongst our travels, yet would not expect to learn of it so soon. Lord Elrond suggested we head for the encampment in Evendim. Joining that of my kin, the Dúnedain that protect the lands and fight to reclaim that of Annúminas. One must admit that I was not too fond of making this reunion.