9 years....

Many old legends exist in this world. Far to many to chronicle. So it can be assumed that one may hear of an unwritten legend long before some scholars document it and immortalise it in a library somewhere. A great many of these legends are not about heroic acts of valor, or some far away fellowship on a long path, or even dragons from an age ago. Some are lesser but can have a far greater impact on a life.

Syllea groaned as she turned over in bed again. Sweat drenched her underclothes/bedtime clothes and dripped from her brow. She sits up and places her bare feet on the floor.

"This heat is killing me." She mutters before standing up and pacing the room.

Turuninde was well and strong now. The days passed and Turuviel was growing impatient. She knew recovery time was important and a day of peace in Imladris had for it the recovery worth of a week in the wilderness full of perils of the moors. She also had her own reason to wait: the daggers she waited for took the smith a lot longer than she expected it to.

{the sequel to "Of Confessions"}