Galtharian

A melodic chuckle escaped the figure as it fell softly into the tall grass from it's refuge upon the treetops. The bear that was pursuing him had gone limp, punctured with several arrows. Galtharian looked up, meeting the eyes of the archer, unable to hide the almost guilty expression in his face.

You really messed up now, Crownlight.

The young Silvan cursed his own antics silently, biting his lip, daring not to make a sound. It was quite a curious scene to behold: the small form of the wood elf covered in mud and dead grass fazed between the tents of the Yrch camp, not a step to be heard as he moved, his muddied robes matching the dirt beneath him. 

The letter is neatly folded, the visible side only being labeled with "For Ninimil" in small script. It sits atop the heavy covers decorating a certain patron's bed, presumably having been left there while the room was empty. Once unfolded, the page shows a carefully written note, the handwriting hinting it was written by a scholarly type or someone who has sent one too many letters.

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.

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.

“I’m… sorry, hiril. I don’t understand,” Ithilwe says as he looks to her with eyes lost in confusion and grief. “You did not die. You are in front of me here, alive, breathing.”

Mallossel takes in a deep breath and then exhales as she looks upwards to the sky. "Do you see them all there, the stars? Our kind has so much love for them."