Recently I found my old journal, the one I started over a century ago when my sister first went missing. Part of me does not wish to remember the painful memories of my past, but a larger part of me hopes that giving this journal to my sister will help her get to know and trust me, so I read on.
Six weeks ago my sister and I quarrelled. I don’t even remember what we quarrelled about now. She stormed out of my house afterwards and I assumed that she was going to walk around the valley for a while to cool off. She often spends hours outside watching the clouds and, at night, the stars.
Six weeks ago my sister disappeared. She did not return to my house, nor did she go home to our parents house. A watcher at the gates of Imladris saw her gallop past him on her horse, but other than that no one has seen her since. I find myself growing worried and have begun preparations to go on a journey outside the valley to find her. I know that she can most likely take care of herself, not least because she has a way with animals, they will protect her from harm, or perceived harm as the scar on my ankle can attest. However, I feel remorse for quarrelling with her and not a small amount of guilt.
It is my fault that Rainith is missing.
