Aldúya, 52nd day of Lasse-lanta
Anor tarries less now in the skies above Imladris, and the clear starlit nights grow longer; soon Hrívë will be upon us, and the stars will truly light the earth longer than the Sun!
Even now, Imladris is bedecked with a carpet of rich brown and gold, as the trees shed their raiment and settle into their long slumber.
My work here is now complete, and in my breast I sense that familiar feeling gnaw at me once more: it is time to take the road to Mithlond. My feet will not resist the urge for long, and I should indeed depart before the clouds of Hrívë gather to release their cool white blossom upon the earth. Yet I shall taste a little more from the cup of hospitality offered by this welcoming Hall, home to the heirs of Eärendil and Elwing.
My mind has been buried deep in tome and scroll, and I have allowed myself little of any company during this stay. One that I did make acquaintance with was quite a surprise! He appeared as one of those edain who visit Imladris, seeking the wisdom of our folk and the wise counsel of Lord Elrond. His name is Oldgrove, which I find rather odd in my thinking, for he is not particularly old by the reckoning of Men - and a mere few breaths old in our eyes! Likely, he is named after a place - perhaps a stand of trees, revered amongst his kinfolk?
Nonetheless, he is a curiosity: Sindarin-speaking, mannerly and displaying a singular lack of awe - or at the least, he makes good an appearance of such! He has even offered to escort me westward if I wish it, as he intends to make his way home to his own lands soon.
Strangely, it occurred to me that...if I chose to tarry in Imladris for but a Quantiën or two more before departing for Mithlond, Oldgrove would most likely be as dead as the leaves that now litter the grass!
