Barangolf

Braigion had many days to be left alone with his prize. He collected enough wood to begin to cook the bear meat, and there was plenty of hide to make repairs (somewhat) to his torn clothing and perhaps make new ones…if he could find the necessary equipment. He took some of the bear’s teeth and managed to tie knots in his poofed up hair to keep them in place. Braigion had enough meat as well to have his fill…for a normal elf that is, but the Avar was still famished.

My Lord,

It is my duty, as your most faithful, and most bounden servant, to make known to your lordship an account touching upon our time spent in the Hithaeglir, that the truth of the account may give you both knowledge and, I hope, great satisfaction.

Brasseniel studied the snowflakes that fell into her open palm, shining white against the black leather glove only for an instant before they melted in the warmth of her breath. 

We arrived at Hrimbarg, northernmost settlement of the Mountains, near the Northern High Pass. There were a few Naugrim there, very surprised at seeing such a large group of Elves, some rather bedraggled and not looking much like soldiers, as one said to me.

“Ready?” Duirronith laid a hand on Barangolf’s shoulder. Before them a raft bumped gently against the riverbank, already burdened with the wines and apples they intended to trade in far Celondim.

Another day in icy Vindurhal, and the snow-storms are still blowing. I am writing this by candlelight, though it be almost midday, because it is so cold and bleak.