Bovad

Thendryt stumbled into his quarters.
He had spent all night walking around. He couldn’t sleep anymore, every night brought a nightmare.
His head was spinning. He could hear shouts and shrieks echoing through his mind.

You’re losing it Morson.

Shut up.

You can’t deny it.

Thendryt kicked a wooden stool into the wall, his metal boots breaking the wood even before it hit the wall.

Get out of my head!

Thendryt punched a thin bookshelf.

Thendryt…

He sat there, in the middle of the cell. The stench of death filled his nostrils.

Morson…

He couldn’t see. The cell was dark, and the lights dim.

Whoreson!

Thendryt was sitting on a stool in Rivendell’s stables, tool in hand. The evening air was chilly, but refreshing.
Bovad complained as Thendryt grabbed his hoof.
“Stop complaining.”
Bovad let out a final grumpy snort before giving in, and Thendryt started cleaning it.
“Thendryt.”
Lowering the tool, Thendryt looked up to find Nelnardis standing next to him, bottle in hand.
“Nel, long time.”
“Yes, it has been.”
Thendryt turned his attention back to the hoof.

The sun slowly came up and the Vale of Imladris started lighting up. After his meeting with Faorie, Thendryt had walked Bovad over the bridge and around the settlement.
They stopped on a height that overlooked the entire Vale. A gentle breeze lifted his cloak slightly from the ground.
There was a slight mist forming around the Elven architecture, and around the rivers around it. Thendryt realized that the scenery was something that his own kind would write poems and sing songs about.