Starmere

Starmere shining silver bright,

Across long watches of the night,

Countless gems of purest light,

Sunk still ‘neath sea, lost save by sight.

Star-near hanging nigh and low,

O’er looming hill of wound and woe.

Soft sweet songs of birds drift slow

near shore, notes none other now know.

Star-clear cold, as dreamless sleep,

Rolls over darkened fathoms deep.

          House Bar-en-Acharn gathered their mounts and themselves outside the ruins of Ost Barandor, looking to find their next path on their hunt for the missing Cutch Crane.  The light was already fading into the gloaming of the night, the shadows deepening beneath the trees.