Imladris

Canopies covering the roads of Caras Galadhon rustled gently against the rolling winds. The twilight skies brought a mystical glow throughout the city as it always had and the citizens roamed about at their own interests, passing back and forth from the swan fountain where Faorie often played.

The afternoon air bore the slight chill of a spring that had not yet lengthened into the gracious warmth of summer. Somewhere nearby, the song of a lark floated from a shadowed glade as Uilossiel made her way along the well-worn path. Brushing away a stray lock of dark hair blown by the gentle breeze, she drew her warm cloak about her shoulders.

Humming contentedly to herself, Uilossiel dipped her quill in the inkpot and began to write. She sat at her finely carved oak desk, gazing from time to time out of the window which overlooked the valley. Since she had returned to Imladris from Lindon, she felt complete somehow, as if there was a piece of her that had always remained in the Valley and had just slid back into place.