The wind howls in his hair, letting the gale flow strongly through his golden locks. The sting of the cold, biting deeply, yet pleasantly into his bare, pale skin. He took off his armor and was standing on a high peak, the slopes falling down into a darken mass of tree tops. The gale causes their trunks to creak loudly. The thin leaves blowing swiftly in a gust up the edge of the perrepes that he stands on. His thin white shirt, stopping nothing of the cold, flaps lifelessly against his thin, muscled Elven frame. With his face tilting up to the open stars. Their light a welcome beacon for him. But one that he will only see in many years to come.
The last couple of weeks has been strange, hard, tumblousse. He really needed time to think. He needs to find his spirit once again, connected to who he is once more. After he got stabbed he .... the less he thinks about that time, maybe the better. He needed to get away from Ost Guruth, needed to spend some time in the wild as well.
"All I can do now, is wait for word" he thinks.
The gates almost send shivers of secret delight up his frame, a delight of the unexpected of adventure and danger. Nodding at the two familiar guards he trots past. He had a week to think and reflect, his heart not rested yet, but excepting. Now his order needs him. There is a lot that needs to be done now that Iolanthryth is gone.
Pulling the reigns of his horse, he stops as he makes way for a group of farmers with curious glares, some hostile some amazed while others feign any interest. An elf in this town does get noticed, he has found. He thinks laughing inwardly. He nods politely, although with a sturn expression. Now for the Pony. There's a few people that he needs to catch up with.
