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Sindalea leans back against the mossy rocks and stares into the distance. The sun has started to set, illuminating the Twilight Lake with a dim, violet glow. The woman sighs, having longed for this moment of solitude for a while now. For the first time since leaving Bree, she lights up her thin wooden pipe. Sweet, intoxicating smoke fills her lungs. The voices and sounds coming from the Rangers' camp are slowly drowned out of her mind, leaving her to her own thoughts.
I must say, I am surprised at myself. Venturing into the tombs of kings, I figured that I would feel a little more irreverent, but I felt nothing of the sort. Only the cord pulling me and Catalinna deeper and deeper into the king's space. Of course, I did my best to collect more academic information for Sin, but my curiosity apparently could not be quenched.
A hawk soars above the Twilight Lake and heads southeastwards in a determined pace. Attached to his leg is a folded up piece of paper, sealed with bright blue wax, bearing the signet of a dagger.
A scheme improvised on the spot left Lefwin, Sindalea, Pedhir and Catalinna with 17 daggers of Westernesse, and more to come on the expenses of Angmar.