Joy

-The Sindarin letters seem to have been written in a slight rush.-

I was out in the Lone Lands, clearing it of Wargs and any other foul beast I found. I came across something....I have never seen before. My heart wept at the sight..... The locals call the wretched place..... Was it Hangmar? I forget the sight was so shocking.... As an elven knight, blood and gore certainly do not make me queasy....

A hundred roofs and chimneys, highlighted by the rising moon ensnare my eyes as the west-gate locks behind me. The road ahead becomes strangely compelling, climbing eastwards through the town, leading my eyes to the looming Menelvagor glittering in the night sky, guarding ceaselessly over the homes of these men.

It was closely coming round to that time of year. The heat of the sun finally piercing the frost of the morning and encouraging flowers to blossom and leaves to grow. The home had remained almost the same, except for the traces of Drandr dotted hither and thither.

Perhaps it was the sheer length of time she had spent here, or rather; the amount she had spent pouring over endless repetitive entries in numerous binds; but these four walls had started to encroach, in a rather annoying fashion.

Incessant was the pattering of rain in the dark. A rhythmic dripping from nose and limb to join that of one large puddle covering the entire causeway, at its base the water formed a larger mass swilling with that of the mud which slid from the banks of the pathway. Rows of men stood ankle deep in water, though one could easily count a dwindled number, only amounting to thirty shield arms.