Egfor opened his eyes, sitting up in bed suddenly, He twists to look back, startled to stare back down at his own sleeping body. He looked down at himself, his being made out of what looks like ethereal light. He looks around for some sort of explanation. He pauses, spying that strange old man standing at the foot of the bed, "Good evening forgoil- Hrm, no, that is no way to address my kin."

Egfor slowly rose to his feet, "You can call me Stag, most of my friends do so." The elderly man nods, "Stag it is. Come now, grandson. We must talk."

I kneel before you and you call me by the name given in days that shone.
I answer but it feels foreign from your lips.
I would ask what that name is to you had I not known;
Had I no fear.

I kneel before you and you steal the words that bind me to the ground before us:
My oath to you once stood as a badge of honor,
Now it lies dying in this tall grass.
A fiddle string has no worth alone, let me not cling to your dying word.

"I was a deadly thing, was I not?" A pause, the first of many. "But I… I was not whole. I was broken.”

    I was at home when it happened. A knock on the door, a quiet conversation, and tears. Mom came back from the door and said that father was hurt badly. He had shattered his arm, and would be unable to work again if they had to amputate. Weeks passed, and father came back from the apothecary missing an arm. It only got worse from there. Willow-bark for the pain, alcohol for the stress, and abuse for the anger. Mom took it to begin with, probably protecting me. It wasn’t long before she had taken too much, and after an evening of shouting, she was gone.

On the Nature of Elven Wines (An Essay)

Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon

39 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris

The lyrics contained within the entry are from "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths

The self is not so weightless

Forest spiders take my tongue so words that sound out do not pain.

There was nothing in Mirkwood.

A name is earned, not given, not chosen for yourself on will alone.

Let it die, there was no past in Mirkwood.

Pray that the deafening silence swallows me before I ask who to blame.

Nothing has ever happened in Mirkwood.

Let me cry out that accursed name with venom on my tongue in lands of home.

Nothing to remind me of days in Mirkwood.

I lay my purpose at your feet, pray one shall take me to lands that grow.

Finchley sighed and looked around for where she could get a snack, muttering to herself. “No..that wasn’t ominous at all….”