Tindir

One hour before dawn. She still had not slept a wink. The fire had gone out long before, and the sky had started to turn dark grey, then blueish grey and ever lighter. The birds were almost about to wake. And she had finally left her office to pack her belongings. Always at the last minute. But there were other important things to do before.

My dearest Eliriael,

Manadhlaer, Lady of the Order of the Pillar and of the Houses of Healing, looked most unladylike as she crawled on all fours around her garden. Indeed, dirty as she was, she would have resembled a giant shrew at a distance, had she a tail. As she was not so endowed, she merely resembled a garden-variety gardener as she crawled around her yard, making sure that each precious athelas start got its grip in the rich Imladris soil. Someone drawing near would have heard her humming an unmistakably lovely tune they had not heard before.

So many departures. They knew that this day would come, that they would have to be prepared. It still made her wonder, despite their training, were the Fountaineers ready for this? As she left the Pillar hall, her conversation with Tingruviel still rung in her ears.

While Loth i Lonnath pushed ahead to recover any kinsmen that might be scattered to the south and west, the Orders of the Hammer and Fountain followed at a slower pace, with the Hound -- Sergeant Daegond -- tracking the yrch that may have been responsible for the shocking murder at the Ford of Bruinen.

Ealendil lets her gaze wander the rolling plains before the Redhorn Pass, no movement, no breeze stirring the grasslands, not even a bird of prey hovering in the air… It was the morning the day after she had left Earcalie north of the dry riverbed of Nan Sirannon. Earcalie had continued on her own back to Imladris, and Ealendil had since been following days old tracks from a large party going north.

Dear Diary,

I have neglected you so. But things have happened, many strange and perhaps terrible yet wonderful.