Syllea

I am sitting among my friends Copper and Nelendor, along with my Papa and Father. A lot is going on, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed, so I sit a bit off, and listen to their talk. I find writing poems helps me to calm, so here we go...

Poem 1:

The young girl sat under her tree, parchment on her lap, Cat taking a nap next to her. Syllea’s own eyes were shut as she gripped the pen in her hand. The breeze blew across her, and her long brown hair flowed behind her. It was times like these where the teenager looked like a princess, instead of the orphaned girl she truly was; her hair flowed like a chocolate river, her skin glistened in the sunlight, her small smile shining with love and kindness. The girl opened her bright, emerald green eyes and looked around.

The attack.
The dangers to Nimraph.
Glandaron.
Survivor's guilt.
Monster's guilt.
Attack.
Nimraph.
Glandaron.
Guilt.
Egfor's hurt.
Attack.
Nimraph.
Mordor
Guilt.
Not worth it.
Attack.
Nimraph.
Ristiinna deserves better.
Not worth it.
Guilt.
Attack.
Angmar
Egfor-

Nmraph-

Guilt

Not w-
Guilt.

Claws like cats,

Teeth like swords.

Graceful creatures,

Killing monsters.

Dogs from above,

Monsters from below.

Shredding hands,

Dear Mama and Papa,

Dem sat and watched Em as she slept. Egfor may have been her adopted father, but he was fond of her for herself. No matter what Egor's final decision was he would always be here for the lass. She was as dear to him as Syllea, Rosie, Lanchthis, and all the other young girls in his life. Egfor was arguing with a craftmaster next door at the new inn he was building, Something he had decided to left Egfor handle on his own.