Drandr

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.