Elvealin

Ah, Diary. I neglect you... but there are so many patients of late, and so little ink. I believe that Norliriel's cat steps in my blasted inkwell out of choice, that it too might leave its mark on the thin parchment we use for reports and requisitions... quite a few marks, forcing me to rewrite a complete monthly report to Lady Danel (who is also away travelling, but Manadhlaer of the Houses files her reports on time, cat or no cat) from scratch. Thus the second of two requisitions put in. I let young Cuillidir fill out the one for alfirin. Ai!

I have not kept track of my painting in the last days too often in the form of Tengwar – since the brush strokes of light, shadow and colours are also a language, I have let it speak instead.

Well, Diary. That was quite a day.

Losgael was proud -- proud of her man, who is my only known living kin; proud in every possible way. That is the way of the Hammer. And because Meluilindele loves her, though -- I did not know this until the day of the contest -- he had forsworn fighting at the request of his father and brother many yéni hence, he arrived at the appointed time, bearing a sword.