The elf maiden and her parents walked on the banks of a crystal rill dancing through a bright green glade, while high above in the branches of the ancient oaks of Mirkwood, larks sang their songs of joy. The trees were timeless as they disappeared into the sky, rough with age, yet their roughness had been worn down by the soft greenness of moss that had slowly made them home.

Fire, terror, destroys my home and plunders

A dark shadow, dark lover, pulls me under

I was happy, then I was lost

I was glorious, then I was rot

Regrets are my friends

I remember the bitter end

I carry on these long months

I feel despair, can I have it my way for once?

My house is crumbled, my crafts are stolen

All I have built up has been torn down, fallen

In need of power, ring of flounder

All I have built up is nothing but ground powder

"Please stay still, hir."

"I am… OUCH! You just stabbed me?!" Fearelhil, yelped in pain and jerked away.

The tailor leaned back, pulling  pins from her mouth, exclaiming in a moment of temper, "Would you just shut up and stay still?!"

It was a softly lowered sky that rained feather-light droplets upon the village that morning. The mist was not cold, for spring had arrived in earnest, and the rich, brown earth drank deeply of the refreshment, pushing forth in turn its tender, verdant shoots in places where heel and cart did not intrude. The world was taking on its new mantle of brighter daylight, even under an overcast sky.

It is hard to recall a time when peace overcame me in the way it has in recent days. For many years I have dwelt in Bree-land and my errands have carried me across much of Eriador. And through the many years I have known much hardship with little peace or joy as a reward. I have since consoled my heart with the promise of Arnor's restoration, and to this day, any hardships are born patiently with the hope of this future glory. Nevertheless, there are pains which even this promise cannot readily alleviate. The loss of my wife near three years ago has often worn heavy on my heart.

I should see my honor spent, as readily and as redly as blood. 

((neatly penned in Lumi-kieli))