The Lone Lands

(This story follows Wanderings: Imladris to the Shire )

Braigion stared at the reflection of himself in the water, mouthing and quietly whispering words. Whatever happened during the time where his memory is blank, it probably contributed to the fact he had improved lot in understanding people and even speaking their language.

Lamaenon was a good communicator, the Avar gave the ellon credit for that…and his impeccable timing. That was twice now the silver-head came right when the situation was dire; unless he accounted saving Eltawĭnā from the undead.

Most elves tend to hate Wargs. Today I learned that is not true. Most elves greatly dislike Wargs, and Hilumrekja HATES THEM. I have never seen him so angry or so full of hate. He went into a rage and killed at least seven of them, a whole pack. We are using the old Numenorian ruins the hound had been staying in as shelter. I ran off to fetch water while Hilumrekja calmed down. When I returned, he had me pulling the bones from the carcasses, and teeth. Door making more weapons or tools I imagine.

The company's journey through the Lone Lands was unremarkable as the days rolled by. They camped along the way, hunting for food and replenishing provisions by foraging from the land where and whenever they could.