Sabela knew why Trestlebridge had never been as vibrant as Bree. It wasn’t just orcs. The town itself was poorly laid, crammed into the outcrop at the edge of the Brandy Hills. Most of the wind came from the north across the Fornost plains where a great, creaking wood had in ancient days stemmed the breeze. Now, the land barren, there was no shelter from the gusts that swept down from the higher hills of Evendim and Forochel’s frozen steppes.

((neatly penned in Lumi-kieli))

Between the gentle patter of raindrops dancing against the cloth canopy above him, and the sharpened chill to the air that flowed around him, Dagramir sat unusually attentive one bright afternoon. Winter’s chilly grip upon the land had begun to wane, its attentions diverting elsewhere. A new season was dawning, one of fresh flowers and offspring alike. And, just so, his very own child sat on the ground to his front; knees bent, and attention taken.

I woke from troubled dreams to see her seated on my bed. Calidis lay beside me, still sleeping soundly, undisturbed by my restless mood but the girl at the foot of my bed smiled, the moonlight surrounding her like an embrace, gleaming from her jet black hair. My daughter yet to be gave me a half smile, her eyes concerned yet amused...so like her father...or he who will be her father...one day.

Isilme looked at me, and sighed. "You are torn between choices....but there is more as well."

Several pages are filled with notes transcribing a story as told in rapid shorthand, messier than usual. There are several places where the notes become almost scribbles and at least one place where a line indicates the writer’s hand jerked in surprise, leaving an unintended mark. A few doodles of Dwarves and frogs fill the margins in various size ratios.