Deorgast

Deorgast sat on the edge of a small cliff, observing the peaceful plains and hills of Rohan. He had his usual relaxed smile on his face as he looked around idly, a lot going through his head. He was fully recovered from his ugly wounds that almost had him killed a long time ago, back in the outskirts of Bree. It was the second time he got caught and beaten by his own kin, who judged him a deserter.
From that time, Deorgast kept the scar

“No matter how bad your heart is broken, the world doesn't stop for your grief.”

"Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver.  But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it"

When I write in this little book, my mind usually is an uncontrollable storm, an chaotic sense of fear but also hope. Fun fact is that I didn't write too much about my thoughts, my opinions and maybe that is because I don't think is not that necessary... but this week is an exception.

It was just another day for Notvar, as he was heading south, near the woods by Annundir. The sun was coming setting, so it was time to find somewhere safe to stay for the night. 

It was normal for Deorgast to suddenly disappear without notice, but only for a matter of days. It was usual for him to go on his casual strolls and endless journeys, to hunt or just to have some time alone with nature. Everybody knew that and how he was, but this time it was different. A few weeks passed and there was no sign of him, Deor was nowhere to be seen. No news from his whereabouts had reached his friends, and no traveler had sighted him for days. What happened to him?

It was late in the afternoon when Fiontann went a walk to Rossethor and Nimeway's house.