Induinen



Quicker than a flash of lighting, the Avari bolted upright in his bed, in his chambers in Felegoth. Quieter than a whisper, names falling from his mouth in a breath, "Morien.. Calith-" The name caught in the back of his throat and it cracked and choked for a moment, making an ugly guttural sound. His stormy grey orbs stared forlorn down at the white blanket embroidered with swirling green leaves for a moment. "Forgive me," he mouthed, barely making any sound at all.

Mornenion looked up, pushing the strands of his shoulder-length black hair away from his face, the broken expression that had crossed his face disappearing, the usual rather bored or grumpy looking expression returning to his face. He did not stay sitting in the bed for a moment longer, tearing the sheets away from him and near jumping from the bed. He didn't bother to make the bed yet, moving over to the stone wash-basin in his room, picking up the jug of water that he'd prepared the night before. He took off the lid and poured it into the basin, the cool clear water splashing in. A few leaves poured out of the jug into the basin as well - leaves used for calming the mind - and Mornenion plucked them from it and put them back into the jug. The water had a potent smell due to the leaves that smelt like grass after it had rained. He inhaled, sighing some afterwards and then dipped his hands into the water, cupping them and lifting up some of the water to his face. He stared at his reflection in water that his hands held, watching as it warped some due to the water leaking through his fingers slowly, eventually until there was none left. He scooped up another handful of water and washed his face this time, as well as rubbing his ears up to their pointed tips with the water to make sure they were clean also. Mornenion continued to get ready as normal from then on.

Once the Avari had finished getting dressed, he sat down at the small round table in his chambers,which had several books, some blank and written on parchments, and a inkwell with a finely carved wooden quill in it, strewn across it randomly. He stared at the mess for a moment, squinting at it as scrutinising the parchments for being in a mess. He lifted his hand and started to sort them, the written one ones in one pile and the blank ones in another. The parchments felt course under his fingers and he could smell the ink from the ones he'd written on, some of them freshly written the day before. A lot of it was note-taking, but one was not. It was the start of a letter, thought there were several vicious, long black scratches over the words written there. He stopped at that one and seemed to ponder over it for a moment. His expression darkened and his brow furrowed and it stayed that way for a good while - a couple of hours at least, but more likely more than that, as he went on with his daily errands.

At the end of the day, Mornenion returned to his chambers, the stormy expression gone now. He looked.. different, like a weight had been lifted, but another was placed there as the previous one removed, though this new weight seemed to have more purpose than the last. He sat down at his desk and placed one of the blank parchments in front of him and reaches for the wooden quill. He dipped the metal nib into the inkwell several times and then tapped it against the side of the opening to get rid of any excess. The ink smelt quite strong and fresh, fresher than the smell of the ink on the paper had been in the morning. He placed the nib of the quill onto the paper and started writing in a thin, cursive hand, the scratching sounds of nib against paper going on until long in the night when Mornenion finished the final draft of the letter he had decided to write.