Danel

“Why is Rainith not with us?" Estarfin asked Danel again.

Did this blockhead not understand anything? wondered Parnard. He spread his embroidery out before him and lifted up his wineskin. “Ai!” he gasped.

“What is it?” said Danel.

I am not entirely sure whether Parnard drives me to amusement or madness.

He sits here even now, stitching away, as is his wont. I have tried a number of times to make out the depiction of the threads but to no avail. They seem to be a cluster of colours to my eyes. Doubtless he sees things differently.

Now that I have mentioned him previously, I feel it is only proper to write his entry. I am of course talking of Estarfin. That angry, sorry soul who even now sits there, brooding.
There are many (Parnard chief among them) who dislike Estarfin. More likely they fear him, for he is a grim fellow. A great looming presence, all dressed in black with his great war-spear in his hand. Perhaps even I might be wary of him if I did not count him as my brother.

The dusk had arrived and Elloen was camping with the others at the Redhorn gate. He looked at his companions while he laid himself down, waiting for the sleep to arrive.

He looked at Rainith and her bare feet, which now were at the level of his eyes. A faint smile got in his lips because she was always thus which made her seem very casual to him, but now they were at the root of Caradhras, and she would have to lay her feet on the snow. Elloen felt a bit silly that he didn't bring any spare pair of shoes.

What do I know about the Lady Rainith? Now that I try to recall her, actually very little, yet in the short time that we have spent together I feel that she has become more open to me, or at least less close. Perhaps this is not the opportune time to write these 'observations', for I am sure that along the way I will learn more about all of my companions. For better or worse.

Estarfin sat with his back resting against the holly tree as he wrote feverishly. The quill was almost a blur as it scratched almost illegible Tengwar script onto the pale parchment. His face was in shadow under the bright moonlight as he had pulled his hood to cover his hair and wrapped his thick black cloak about himself. Occasionally he paused and re-read the words that he had written, a look of confusion upon his face as he quickly crossed out whole sections of the text. He would then stare at one of the others, waiting for them to look at him before looking away quickly.

Rainith and Belegos are mighty frank and familiar towards each other; they seem as old friends reunited. I sit by the fire, a little apart from the company, waiting for this accursed haunch to finish cooking. The spit is set too high over the flames, but these burn so hot that to roast the meat any closer will char it.