Uilossiel

Menelya, the 53^rd day of Quellë

Laurelindo was enjoying a slow morning at home. The weather outside was fair, however the elf was inside, an open book on his lap, writing supply on the nearby table. ​

"The day yesterday was... fantastic. 

Well, fantastically boring, with the exception of two meetings. 

The dry, pungent smell of herbs wafted out of the open door. Uilossiel stepped inside, the flagstones cool and smooth against her slippered feet. Under one arm she carried a large tome, and in the other hand a small journal.

"Tinwen? Are you there?" She peered around the corner and saw her younger sister Tinwen seated at a table, crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle. Her silvery-fair hair, so like their mother's, was pulled into a coif atop her head. Although it was late in the afternoon, not a single fold of Tinwen's pale blue dress was out of place.

A candle sputtered fretfully in the drafty air, casting a flickering circle of light on the desk. Outside, rain beat steadily upon the windowpanes, which were shut tight and curtained against the weather. Uilossiel  frowned, got up from her seat before the desk, and shut her door. Lighting another candle, she placed it opposite the first, so that more of the desk was illuminated, and returned to her studies.

"So, is that  for yourself, or should I be worried that soon all of the Arrow will be wearing purple as well?"

"No to your first question, and yes to the second, though that might be difficult to believe. It seems the colours of the Arrow match my tastes. They will be wanting a uniform, I think, and - well, who else is to design it?'

Uilossiel cast an appraising look at the bolt of purple cloth laid out on the merchant's table."At any rate, I should say good afternoon. Tinwen sent me here for some thread and things for her sewing."

Menelya, the 41st day of Yávië

Anarya, the 38th day of Yávië

It is evening now, and I am writing this at my desk, as usual. You would not think anything has changed - everything is in place as it always is, my room is (hopefully) neat as usual, and the constellations shine in the sky in a most familiar fashion. Yet I feel as if my entire world has been turned upside down.

"Sister?"

Branches rustled as Tancamir leapt down from his perch in a tree behind Uilossiel. She whirled around to face him with a startled cry.

"You! What in the name of Arda are you doing here? I thought this was my own spot, safe from prying eyes. " She snapped her journal shut, shoving it out of sight.

"I have tracked yrch, Angmarim, and all manner of beasts, so tracking one elleth was hardly a challenge," he shrugged. Face sobering, he took a step closer to her.

"Look, little sister, we need to talk."