trust

Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there.

Stitches. He was back in Bree-land, while Dru was on her way to Gondor. It was as if fate was ever telling them to stay apart. As if some force continued to separate them from each other. She had given her word, and even his return could not bring her to break it.

Second Age; 1716, a week after the encounter…

Undómion had a sense of paranoia about leaving his Talan, and remained on the platform within the Mallorn. He felt humiliated. How could he be bested by this one maid?

“You have the looks of a love-struck elf.”

‘No, I do not! So much happened too fast…the forest is enchanted!’ “Perhaps.”

The forest was special in its own way…even the inhabitants. Still, he should have at least kept composure when saying his name.