Zavas woke from a dream. A shadow chasing him the clatter of bones and a dark bereft of all godly light, impenetrable, terrifying. He sat up to a cock’s crow, felt the presence of his companions stirring close by in the ruins. He scattered water all over his head and felt the terror receding from him his heart, for the time being. They shared fresh baked bread from the Wilderlings amongst them, sat talking in sombre voices about the day and the one after ahead.

As ever, I put pen to paper, not knowing what I wish to say, nor where my thoughts will go. Does anyone else have a mind that feels so brimming-over with fullness, that it becomes essentially blank? 

It began with an awareness of how unfair the world could be.  As simple as that. She had struggled so hard, enduring painful exercises in the dark of night so that her parents wouldn’t know, using the oils and creams the healers in Pelargir had given her, allowing Yula to test upon her every Salla root and Athelas leaf concoction she could dream up….yet none of it helpled. Despite everything, she had to accept the truth of it, she was lame, and there was nothing anyone could do.

The messenger approached the small house set upon the rolling hills of prairie south of the Misty Mountains and west of Rohan. The foundations were set deep in the earth and the walls were hewn of rough stone. The roof was made of wooden logs and straw thatch. As she drew closer up the hill she could see through the sunlight that it was burnt. Smoke marks scored the stone where the roof had touched the walls. The birds ceased their noise and the wind no longer whispered through her ears.

She had loved. She had lost. But Lissilana was now given a Path. Though wandering, it did take her, she would follow it. With all she was, and more. She would become more. She would do the work which she was meant to do and do so joyfully. Though it took her from many familiar and beloved faces, she would follow her Path.

The healer of Everslade was seen, closing the gates to the tiny settlement. Her eyes conveyed pain, almost emptiness, and worry, if one could catch a glimpse from beneath her unruly strawberry-blonde hair. No explanation given, she locked the gates. Though some of those who lived in the tiny town may be seen sometimes outside its walls, Ashwyneth, the healer, is not seen ever anymore.

It hurt, leaving those she'd come to know and treasure behind. She'd found acceptance there...warmth. She hadn't, since she could remember, had the ability to open and be herself with anyone. Yet here, she was able to, nearly without reservation. Even the ugliest parts of her were seen, protected...loved. She had found love there. A family.