rohan

Dear Brynleigh,

A log.

Elves. What wondrous, extraordinary, beautiful and terrifying creatures. Never in all my years had I seen one and indeed I had mostly resorted to thinking of them as beings of stories and tall tales, yet now I've spent a while among a few of them in this land they call Eregion. It was a name I had seen on a map once, and so it was scribed on my hastily drawn map also, but nothing else did I know of these lands before coming here, somewhat by chance.

It has been days since Earwulfa fled from Langhold and saw her beloved town turned into fire wood. And now she saw the towers and with the pennants and banners of the greatest city of the Eastemnet on the horizon. Snowbourn. She recognised the white grain on a field of red. Since she was suppose to marry a noble warrior from the Norcofts, she was able to recognise nearly all the banners of the Riddermark. She gazed upon the banners when she got closer to the city and wondered if she would one day wore the grain on red as proud as she wore the yellow bow on green.

To the House of Thane Freothulaf, son of Firmon

A sigh of relief was heard in the convoy from Langhold when they saw the pendants of Harwick fly in the wind. The sight of the golden hauberk on a field of green meant safety. Earwulfa looked at the convoy that fled her hometown of Langhold and wondered what has become of those left behind. Were they still to meet the attackers? Were they fighting? Or was the fighting allready done? And if so, was Langhold victorious or had it fallen? Earwulfa looked at the convoy of refugees. The old, the young and the weak she thought. And the women of course.

Her mind was plagued with regrets, after Lieta’s death. ‘I wish I never left the Riddermark in the first place’; ‘I wish I never joined them’; ‘I wish I’d left them and took up the offer to join the eored at the Fords of Isen’; ‘I wish that none of this ever happened’.