Naridalis’ Diary
The crisp bite of autumn fills the air, the forest leaves slowly turning to shades of gold and amber. It is a season of change, of transition—a time for the land to prepare for the long sleep of winter. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, and it is within this quiet, shifting landscape that I met him.
Sadar, I have named him. A white-hawk, his feathers gleaming like moonlight against the pale sky, his wings slicing through the cool autumn air with an effortless grace. I first saw him on a quiet afternoon, as I wandered through the woods of Ered Luin, searching for traces of the game that roams these ancient lands.
At first, I thought little of him. A hawk, circling high above, no more noteworthy than any other of his kind. But as I ventured deeper into the trees, I began to feel a strange sensation—a presence, subtle yet unshakable, like the forest itself had taken a keen interest in my movements. The hawk had followed me, his silent flight never straying far, his sharp eyes never leaving my form.
It was then that I realized—he was no ordinary bird. His gaze held something more than the usual predatory instinct. There was something knowing in those eyes, something that whispered to me, drawing me in.
I paused, my feet still upon the forest floor, and turned my gaze upward. The hawk perched upon a high branch, watching me with a quiet intensity. His presence was almost regal, his wings folding neatly against his body as though he were a creature of both the wilds and the high heavens. There was an unspoken understanding between us, a connection formed not from words, but from the very essence of the land around us.
And then, as though responding to my unvoiced thoughts, he descended, landing gracefully upon my outstretched arm. His talons were sharp, but there was no discomfort in his grasp—only the delicate weight of a creature who knew exactly where to place himself. I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and strong, and in that moment, I knew that we were bound together in some quiet, unspoken way.
I named him Sadar, a name that feels fitting for a creature who has so swiftly earned my trust. In Sindarin, it means ‘trusty follower’ or ‘loyal companion,’ and I cannot think of a more fitting title for him. He has already become more than a companion in the few days we have shared; he is a partner in this world of wandering and quiet pursuits. His sharp eyes see things I might overlook, and his steady presence brings comfort as I traverse the wilderness. In his wings, I see the freedom I so often seek, and in his companionship, I find a quiet peace.
He is not merely a pet, but a reminder of the bond between all creatures, and of the wild spirit that runs through the veins of Middle-earth. As I continue on my journey, I know that Sadar will be by my side, ever watchful, ever loyal. Together, we will face whatever lies ahead, as the autumn winds carry us forward into the unknown.
—N.
