Glorfingwë

Melumatyar's sure instincts have led the Lósengriol to the decaying ruin of Ost Thondol, deep in the Northern Trollshaws. As Glorfingwë patrols the battlements and looks to the north, Lindalembar of the Woodland Realm and Arradril of Gondolin stand together and cast their watchful gaze to the south. 

Following the scent of woodsmoke, we discovered a camp in the Trollshaws. The fact that friends felt safe here on this rocky outcrop -- safe enough to rest their horses and build a fire without fear -- cheered us no small amount. Several of the company opened their rations and took food around the fire. It was natural for me to remain standing, but, with my lord Branalph's approving eyes upon me, I was able to offer the company a song about harvest-time and grain.

We rode, following the guidance of hir Glorfingwë, who was eager for the company to take horse and begin the long travel ahead of them.L

My lord and I met the merry travelers at a well-known ruin in the woods. He and I knew we must turn back once we saw the group safely on their way as they traveled toward merriment and frivolity -- and we remained for duty. I admit that envy tinged my gaze upon my friends.

At the small encampment called Gaerond -- mostly Elves of the Trollshaws, but also a few Men who had the look of Dúnedain -- the group made inquiries. Unfortunately, the horse-mistress reported one of her beasts had fallen sick with no cause apparent, and while hir Branalph stood watch for any unusual activity, the others moved to inspect some freshly delivered provisions. Arradril halved an apple to inspect it, while Glorfingwë, who had long experience working with reagents and metals, smelled sulfur among the fruits and vegetables.

After sunset, the Elves gathered to assess the problem. The plant Arradril had found at the water's edge had turned black from the inside, not the outside -- indeed, it looked almost as if it had died of sheer despair, if such a thing were possible. The friends quickly agreed that the blighted plants and the reports of sickness must be related, and perhaps the corruption was waterborne, as horrible a thought as this was. More investigation was needed, and the group decided to make for the small encampment known as Gaerond.

Word had reached Carethril, a healer within the house known somewhat cryptically as Lósengriol, that Men and their beasts were sickening and dying along both banks of the river Mitheithel. Accordingly, a small group of Elves of that house met the scouts encamped just east of the Last Bridge across the river. They fanned out, searching for clues, and soon Arradril found something not at all to her liking.

At the end of the evening, members of Lósengriol and the last few guests went outside to plant one of the esteloth flowers retrieved intact all the way from i Drann, the former part of Arthedain now called "the Shire." Manadhlaer and Lirisseya discussed their hopes to use the plant to heal the griefs of those who bore hurt in their hearts.

The long trek to the Great Smials of Tuckborough has paid off. There are a few false starts: Gaerondil finds and rejects volumes on swine, show chickens, and split-rail fences, while Redandir, predictably, selects To Win a Lass, and Hermanniadoc goes for Fireside Tales of the Shire. But once again, it is Lirisseya whose unerring research skills find the right volume -- a book called The Green Thumb by Old Gardner Greenleaves contains a sketch of the very flower the Elves are researching!