Yondershire

I awoke to find Estarfin absent, although his cloak was placed over me. Parnard, however, was sitting on a nearby rock, resting his chin on his hand and looking rather thoughtful. 

“We will travel soon, I believe. At least this time I do not wear iron chains,” he said upon hearing my movement.

So there I was, riding me pony with as many of me things as I could pack, heading fer Needlehole an the Yondershire.

It was strange how it happened. One day I was carrying on as usual with me chores and me cooking, happy as anything, and then that dream came back ter me. It was as if it were yesterday! But that dream was over ten years old. Why was it back, an with such strength I had ter act on it?

Jeb Jexson was thinking about his younger brother Bramwell. He was thinking of how Bramwell died in those ruins in Yondershire. He was not a happy man.

It is said that the first of us awoke late at night, under skies of unclouded stars, and the stars were their earliest memory. They loved all of Arda, but were ever moved most in heart by the stars, and the hours of twilight and morrow-dim.(1) 

So it is said. So I have found among most of our kind. 

Expedition: Swanfleet, Day One

33 Tuilë in the Reckoning of Imladris

It took us nigh an hour to ride to the place near Tighfield. A high dark ridge was to our right, like a shadow looming against the starlit sky. The air was cool and fresh, with just a small promise of rain and a far off hint of fire. All was still, save from the occasional hoot of an owl. Some distance ahead and off to the right, a few lanterns could be spotted, twinkling like far lesser stars in the windows of some of the Halfling’s homes.

Parnard Teludarion is a wood elf from the Greenwood. Little more than a child in his six hundred and fifty years compared to we two First Age Noldor, yet he is our mutual friend and ally. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for with curiosity, wit and eloquence. Though seemingly trained in the ways of combat I am uncertain if it is according to his people’s way, as he eschews a bow and knife (save for eating) and instead uses a longsword, Steel-Thorn, made for him by Estarfin.

We rode on for nigh half of an hour, mostly in silence save for comments on sound or movement nearby. Though I had no fear of falling I was still struggling between sitting upright or bouncing off armour. We were no longer in any danger. None of the men would be this near. Indeed, none of those men had survived. I slowed Pelorian as we approached the bridge over the stream.