Occasionally the piercing sound of a sudden outburst or the echo of boisterous laughter from a few late night drinkers in the common room of the Prancing Pony would drift down the hallway and into the kitchen to reach her ears, but there was little else to break the silence of the night.

“I will be with you. I am always with you, Emig. I love you so much... I will love you so much. Await me, at our secret place. One day, you will know where that is and you will tell little me that I spoke of it to you and I won’t believe you... But, now, I remember not believing it.”

"Xan, what does ‘Emig’ mean?"

We've been in Bree for nearly three weeks now and I cannot say I am fond of this place. Arthedaer has suggested on my behalf that I start dressing more 'accordingly' as to not draw attention to ourselves. He managed to procure some casual garments from one of his trade deals or some such.  I cut my hair too it's shoulder-length now. I only see a stranger now, when I peer into the looking glass.  My eyes look more restless than before, my dreams have yet to be pleasant during this stay.

Bare feet fly quietly through the shallow water, barely a splash made with each step. A sharp cry of a gull calls out its loneliness from the sky above, and then an answering call from the one striding across the shallow tide. The wild winds of the sea are quiet this day, only occasionally making its presence known to those upon the beach.

There were no goodbyes, there was no closure.  Lady Nestadalien paced the ship's deck.  The first portion of the voyage was gentle. But it gave her no comfort. Dol Amroth may have been surrounded by sea, still, she preferred watching the waves on the shore from the comfort of her home.  It felt like she was in exile but she knew she did nothing wrong.  There were so many questions in her heart.  His voice echoed in her mind "My lady, we need to leave. I apologize, there is no time to explain.

Xandilif the Banshee sat in the darkest corner of the Prancing Pony she could find, a bottle of clear liquor in front of her and a single small glass. Through the walls of the Inn she could feel Finchley breathing raggedly, her heart beating fast as her avian namesake but steady even as her dreams raged, could feel the pulse of the brand forged by sorcery and soot into her skin. Just thinking of it, and the shame in Finchley's eye whenever she revealed it, made her blood boil again.