Naneth nîn,

I hope all is well at home. It’s been too many seasons since I have seen you, and I hope I can come back soon to visit. 

Lusseriel was sitting between two tents in the small camp of the rohirrim. She looked weary, as she was trying to just stay sitting as the rohirrim healer applied a suture and bandage to a small but annoying and bleeding wound on her side. She looked at her ankle that was slowly turning a not so fetching shade of purple and sighed.

After departing Calidis’ Haven, the small company leisurely reached the gates of Imladris, where the pathway headed down towards the Ford through a series of hidden and dangerous switchbacks. Waiting for them were two stately elven women, each appearing young as springtime but in reality far older then the ages of the rest of the company combined.

“Hertha, can you help me? I need to make a gift for my mama?”

The smith looked round a touch sternly, as she was just about to discuss the main tasks of the day with her assistant, Heard. 

    The moon was glancing at the world through the dark clouds in the sky and the air was filled with the neeking and the breeking of the annoying insects of the Marsh, they kept a steady rhythm for the leaves to rustle with the passing of the wind.

Finchley stepped out of the house in Rivendell, her knapsack over one shoulder jauntily, a letter held in between the thumb and forefinger of her bandaged hand.

“Greaves, to make your step undaunted.” 

“Gauntlets, so that your hands know no bite save that of your own weapon.” 

“The Cuirass, to shield your heart from weariness.” 

“The Mantle, to carry the burden of The Thousand.” 

“The Helm, so that the Enemy knows whom to fear.” 

“You are wrath, and you are ruin. You are The Spear and The Shield. A torch carried at midnight. You are war made manifest. Duty unto death.”