A fragment of thought, penned in Linnethril's elegant hand. The page bears a small smudge: a trace of mossy green.
I hear her sound,
The gentle rustle of her hair;
The rubbing of her arms together,
Upraised, in praise of Manwe's kiss.
Her scent I adore, green and heady,
Brought forth from the land;
Her toes, burrowed in soil,
Hallowed by Yavanna's touch.

