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Jonn wiped the blood off his blade using the vest worn by one of the handful of slain half-orcs lying around him. He curled his lips at the sight of the liquid; an unsightly sort of blackish-red, like a man's blood after it had dried, but this was still wet. After sheathing the sword, he stood back up from his crouch, grunting at the sudden pain. During the preceding battle, one of the louts managed to get behind him and strike him in the back. The armor didn't appear to be pierced, but he probably had a bruised rib.

And thus the last (or maybe not?) journey of the Shadow Walkers began. With Sauron gone, it was like a weight was lifted from their souls. The journey was long but certainly fun in a way and sad in another.

They passed through Gondor, stopping in Bar Hurin, Arnach, Pelargir, Linhir and Lamedon, and they eventually went through the former Paths of the Dead. None of them ever feared this place, whatsoever. In Rohan, they made fewer stops, and they typically stayed in the wild, except that one time they went to an inn in one of the towns and drank some mead together.

(( Written on a neatly-cut piece of parchment, rolled around a thin shaft of birch-wood and held together with a leather cord, dyed red, knotted and woven down the length. ))

Dearest Mother, beloved Father, treasured Brother,

Aren had been struggling with communicating in the last year of his life, on account of his newly acquired lack of voice. Once he had been a very talkative young man, happy to chat about anything with anyone. But when that was taken away, he became a much different person. He started off writing messages to people, using the little book he carried tucked into his belt. It was an adequate tool, unless the other person couldn’t read. Then there were other problems with it.

So here I am, Tinnudir after all those years. This place means much to me as this is the only place I really call home. It might be weird for a traveller like me to call 'a town' home but I was born here. Many years passed since I last have seen the Nenuial Lake and walked these paths. Yet I have no time to enjoy it all. We will leave this town in the morning and sail towards the ancient city of Annuminas. So many things to do and not enough time for anything. It makes me sad but I know that someday I will return and settle down in these lands.

I close my eyes and I can see seas of green as far as the eye can see. Fields of corn, the smell of honeycakes freshly baked as Mother oft used to bake. But they are but a distant memory, vivid as they are. The golden hall of Meduseld standing proud and tall over the horizon. The farmhands, my elder brother. Father. The girl over yonder riding her horse over the tall grassland. No doubt headed into Edoras as she so often did.

Hours late, she stepped fowards on the long faraway, Homeland...