*writen in steady handwriting, of one who spent many nights writing letters, poems, scrolls...a gentle hand*
Here we are, once more on the edge of wilderness, this time riding east, not west...yonder lies the lands whose beauty rests untold beneath the veil of mist in my mind...ever there to be remembered, yet never to be seen again. Lorien...Lorien...the song went as the days melded into nights...fair voices rising and falling as the sweet sound of beloved Anduin, the Great River, flowing ever southward...unto the lands of my birth. I wonder what Saeldol does at a still, breathless, spring night such as this? I suppose the summer is already starting in Pelargir...and the white sand of Ethir Anduin glistens in the starlight...
Curse the stars and their heartaching beauty...thoughts like this do not belong on the road...nor anywhere beyond it. That life is over, and I wonder now was it ever mine to begin with. Alas, I will never know. Nor do I desire to.
Celebhir pretends to sleep, though I see her lithe ears move as the wood crackles beneath the flames. Our companion is away, somewhere, on the watch till dawn. There are still a few hours till Anor rises above the mountains to the east. Yet I sense I will find no real rest here, in this ramshackle camp of the strange giant-kin. They seem harmless enough. No, my restlesness comes from another source. What did he hope to accomplish, asking me those questions? I almost forgot the answers myself. I wonder does he trust me? I wonder do I even care to gain his trust, if he doesn't. He is, after all, only our guide. Or rather, Celebhir's guide...
I do not trust the darkness here. The scar of the past runs deep in the land, and even the waters look unwell when I kneel to the streams for a sip. It is running, but not fresh. Almost unnatural. I will be happy to ride on tomorrow. And I doubt hither I would ever return of my own choice.
I am reminiscent tonight, and some thoughts repeat themselves like the songs of the seagulls in my head. Perhaps I should see if I can get some rest after all, in spite my worries of our current locale.
*the letters trail off for a paragraph, as if the writer fell in a brooding trance, only to pick up for a span a way ahead, the handwriting losing some of its firmness, as though the person is falling once more to the blurry mists of long-forgotten memories*
...I wonder what Saeldol is doing on a night like this...whether his back still ache, even without the winds to chill his bones...I wonder many things...and I wonder will I ever learn their truth...
