What is a year to an Elf? A drop in the ocean of immortal life. But a year, or more, spent alone, spreads on like the elongating shadow at the height of noon.
Years had passed since the Battle of Five Armies. Years stretched on as her heart broke and her soul quaked. Never again did she think she would be whole again. Dearly beloveds lost; a life changed through the spreading of evil and greed. She knew she needed to get away as soon as victories were theirs. Knew that life would never be like what it once was. The Great Greenwood; no longer green nor great.
Tucked within her sack, only a few precious things remained. Two silver bands threaded onto leather cord, worn always around her neck unless hidden safely away where no eyes or hands could find them. The other, a leather bound book containing blank pages. A token she picked up from a provisioner in Duillond. One of the first entries to this book was penned by her own hand and read:
Well. Where does one begin when starting to keep their thoughts and feelings documented down?
I suppose there is no better place to start than today. Another day has passed and I still think of you, melda. Always you are with me and one day we will meet again.
I have made my home in Ered Luin for this time. Perhaps one day I will return to Eryn Lasgalen as it is now named. But for now I have my home amongst the trees and I feel some peace once again.
What a day today turned out to be, melda. As if the forest heard my heart breaking for you once more, it has sent me all that I could need. As I was walking through the trees looking for something to forage I heard such a strange noise coming from the thicket. An animal of some kind I knew, but it sounded small and fragile, not a threat at all. I drew my dagger none the less, not wanting to be surprised by something with tusks. And there, under thicks brambles I saw him. This ball of fur curled up and calling out for his mother. A small fox kit. I am pained to say I discovered his mother had befallen a hunter's trap not far from their den. Foul things. He looked thin and I could not bare to leave him out for the night, with things bigger than him and so I wrapped him in my cloak and carried him home. He made himself rather at home rather quickly, finding comfort in the fire and sustenance I could give him. It is as if the forest knew I needed him and He needed me. My heart beats once more with this life I have been given. I have named him Mithrenor, for his fur is grey as dusk.
