Vinyalonde

     The sun shines warm on the water, determined not to abandon its grip on the summer sky just yet. I sit with my bare feet just brushing the light waves that set the docks to creaking, and the small boats bobbing placidly about. The small dock-cat sits pressed beside my legs, paws folded possessively over a piece of fish she has stolen. I run one hand rhythmically through her fur, feeling the rumbling vibrations of her purr as she stretches out more lazily, content to sit in the sun and be loved.

Nothing fills up a heart with bitterness more than being mocked and misused. Parnard looked in the glass, but he did not see his freshly polished armour. Instead, he gazed upon the jagged scar on his ear. I will never find a wife now, he thought. What maiden would love this marred face?

Today I went to market to buy a hauberk. The dwarf showed me many fine ones, and one was very similar to the black and silver chainmail that the warriors in my order wear, but I could not afford it. I asked to see something less flashy and bright, because, I said, I would not stand out as gaudy as a goblin. Then he put it away, and showed me several other hauberks, but I could not afford these either, so I said they were not fit for this reason or that.

It seems to me that there is a strangeness amongst my people that is unnatural. For we are of the same blood, of the same family, and once our forefathers were friends, long, long ago. Yet I am a stranger in their sight: a foreigner, from a far kingdom, of a different dress, habit, speech and manners.

I was out fishing all morning, and on my way to market met two of our order on the road, the Lords Thedomir and Galahadlas.

Parnard peeked over the ridge and stared wide-eyed at the sight below him. A smell of blood lay sickening on the stagnation, a smell loved by the Glamhoth, but he did not notice it, as he was covered with stinking mud from head to foot.

"Everything I have, and everything I am, is yours."

       Soft strains of music float across the bridge. The stars dance through the ripples of the lake, bathing the sanctuary in silvered light. I take a deep breath, feeling the nerves and excitement that flutter in the pit of my stomach like tiny trapped birds. To my side, Galdorion fidgets anxiously. He is close enough to reach out and touch, but I do not move. We are both stood still, waiting.

Today I woke up with an aching head, as I spent the evening celebrating my safe return to Imladris with a good company of Elves: Ruthoiël,

This day I met another maiden in Duillond, Duinien of the Falathrim, and she was mighty finely dressed in a rich blue gown with much gold couching stitched upon it. I complimented its stylishness, and this seemed to please her greatly. She told me of a garden inside a cave nearby, and so together we went to see it.