good

Deorla sat alone in the quiet of the Bree homestead, the letter from Naridalis trembling in her hands. The familiar script, once a source of comfort, now bore words that cut deeper than any blade.

Trust, once solid among the Company of the East Road, now wavered like smoke. Naridalis’s words painted a picture of disillusionment, of friendships strained to the edge. Promises had been broken. The past Deorla had fought to bury clawed its way into the present, and now it stood like a specter between her and those she'd once called kin.

Dear Guriwen 

Deorla stood at the threshold of their new house, her heart fluttering with excitement as the early morning light streamed through the trees. The house was smaller than she'd imagined altho still much bigger than the previous one, there was something about it that made her chest swell with pride. The stone walls gleamed in the sun, a clear sign that the work was good, even if the cost had nearly drained their savings.

An Essay on the culture of the Hobbits