Anduin

So I set out on my epic journey, wandering hither and thither in search of Boromir, and the Last Ring, avoiding the wicked agents of the High Steward Denethor and the fell servants of King Sauron the Dark Lord.  It was without hope or chance of success that I set out on this desperate mission, yet set out I did, for is it not said that, ‘the wicked reap when the good man sleeps’?¹  And what gooder man is there than I?

She stands on the precipice. She stands upon the point of no return. The wind whips through her hair, catching her braided locks in its wild grasp and pulling threads and strands of her hair loose. The skirt of her tunic flaps wildly in front of her as she stares down the sheer drop. A sense of nausea overcomes her, and she stands upright once more so she does not have to see the bottom.