Vanimar

The night was nearing its end,
the stars gradually moving across the sky as the light of dawn illuminated
the hidden Vale with its warmth.

Ráolor and Faörie greeted each other before the Last Homely House,
exchanging pleasantries followed by the two walking to the pavilion together by the
Falls of Imladris where they conversed of various personal matters.

The tramp of steel-shod boots grated upon pale flagstones as Makanárë strode up the path, face grim. Overhead, the stars glimmered pale and distant, while the closer lights of Imladris blinked and faltered  in the cool breeze. Her steps did not waver, feet leading her up a grassy knoll until she stood beside a simple cairn, newly made.

So spoke the Kinslayer,

Mindful of hardships,

Of fierce slaughters,

And the downfall of Kinsmen.

​Laurelindo was sitting in their camp, watching the sky above, writing in his usual book at the light of the fading fire.

“The journey started with no incident. Which I suppose, I should count as lucky, knowing the both of us. When Tyulusse and I are together, there is no telling what can happen.

We were just a little delayed in our departure. I suppose it wasn’t avoidable. We either should have left earlier, or should have expected it.