Alyanissë,

Dearest Faerind,

I hope you are well, though I have no idea if you have already left the Valley, by now. If that is the case, I have asked Ada and Naneth to keep this until you send word back to Imladris of where you are, and if letters can reach you. Anyways,  I will try to keep this short and to the point. We left Imladris two whole days ago, and stopped in Gwingris last night. The ruins - oh, I know we have come here earlier, with Ada and Nana, but it is not the same. Eregion is a very somber and mysterious land, full of mysteries and memories of the past Age.

Settled upon a boulder in the ruins of Gwingris, Lothelian  gazed quietly at the stars above. The night was still, as most were resting, and she could see the embers of the evening's fire glowing softly in the distance. She shuffled around on the rock as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. It was Annúngil, and she turned to him, face brightening.

"The others went to look for some shelter to spend the night?" he asked.

Valanya, the 18^th day of Coirë

A curt knock sounded at the door, and Alyanissë turned from her place beside the anvil with an expectant look toward the entrance of the forge.

"Will you get the door, Lothelian? 'Tis Makanárë, without a doubt." Lothelian hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron, and straightened the braid which hung crookedly over one shoulder. The door-knob rattled a bit, and the door itself opened before Lothelian could reach it. She watched, slightly mortified, as  Makanárë strode in, a rather unusual smile on her face.

Luthelian stood, considering the items upon her bed: rope, extra clothes, a leather satchel containing a needle and some thread, and a water skin. These, she had pulled out from the corners of her room or bought at the market. She had never been on a longer journey before; her only experience was scouting, a couple days at most, with her father upon the Moors.

She stood, face turned to the west, wind whipping her hair into an unruly mess, and watched the dying light vanish beyond the vale of Imladris. Standing on a high rocky ledge north of the valley, Makanárë spared a brief glance downwards, watching as the lights of Imladris glimmered below. It had been a long day, and she rolled her shoulders once before thoughtlessly pulling out a dagger from her gauntlet and twirling it in one hand.