Cironael

I must write ... I writing I am not alone. Twice now I have moved, further into the marshes. The mist closes in on me, no longer a welcome veil...and it is dark, so very dark. I feel that dark settle on my skin, palpable dark... a nothing that envelopes, seeps into pores. Somewhere above me are stars, I believe it to be true, but nothing of stars or moon are here. All my light for this scratching is come from Esteluinil. She radiates softly, the only illumination. But I know what she tells me - orcs wander at will in these hills, and of them I have no fear...

Yestereve I left Araenion absorbed in the library. For once a gathering of the Eldar did not tempt him, curled up as he was by the study fire, lost in maps of the East. In truth I was pleased, I had not the heart to tell him that the invitation had only been extended to me, that for this one time Men were not allowed.