Danel

Naraal let himself drift in the dream world. She was looking appreciatively at him, as she held a piece of the armour Tazakr had found. Then she was running away through the deep snow towards the edge of a cliff. He gave chase. But he was only wearing one of his Umbari tunics and his feet were bare. It was freezing. Then, thankfully, she halted. Something large and dark had climbed up the cliff, and now stood beside her…protectively. 

He was dreaming.

She had red hair, long and flowing unbound. The breeze swept it back, and lightly tangled it in invisible fingers. It took up part of her red gown as well, so that it ballooned out behind her. She laughed. 

(Warning for battle scenes))

We reached the well and looked in.

“We cannot climb down there,” Fealasse protested. “The fumes, the air is poison.” Nolion began to sob a little, picking up on his mother’s distress. 

(After 'Tutors. 1/3' )

“Amille!” I called as I swung my cloak about my shoulders, stuffed two daggers in my leather belt and took up my sword. “Amille, there is no time for your pictures. You must leave them.”

By the time Alcarinquë the Glorious* had ascended to the zenith of the velvet-indigo sky, its steady, cream-colored radiance burning like a beacon, piercing the dense web of stars that the Elves named the Burning Bridge**, Parnard glided up to the manor house. Through the windowpane he saw Filignil sitting in the kitchen alone, at work polishing several silver candlesticks with a rag dipped in a mixture of vinegar and wood ash. 

Shortly after midday on the second day, I ceased pacing, sat down at my desk, took up pen and paper and began writing.

“I suppose she should be able to defend herself…but only at great need,” Parnard answered, after a long pause. “There are no Trolls to be found in these parts, I think.”