Estarfin

"Yarehtar!" He is fully himself again.

After the meal, Barahirn being restored to the bed, and the plates being cleaned, I returned to my training, only this time with the indoor opponents in the side room. As the afternoon grew warmer, I was glad I wore but a thin sleeveless dress. Swinging Sarphir repeatedly at dummies was hot work, and my arms began to ache due to lack of regular practice, but I would not stop.

A few times I heard Estarfin’s voice, speaking as if to something he had crafted. I wondered at what he was making with such tenacity, but knew I would find out as soon as he wished. 

Story:  'A Muted Midsummer Feast', by Parnard.

There is still a celebration a little after Midsummer Day, but the participants cannot bring themselves to enjoy it to the full. Although they appreciate each other's company, and the fine food prepared mostly by Parnard and Marawendi, (though the return of Filignil at the last moment means the return of Roast Chicken,) they are still in a measure of shock at what happened to their home, and at the loss of Aearlinn. 

Estarfin watched the road, eyes keen for any unwelcome traveler. As he waited under the stars, he ran through the lines of lore he had been writing.

Through snows that veiled the mountains bleak,

Three Firstborn strode o’er vale and peak,

Parnard, a wood elf, young and free,

He pulled them fast from western sea,

Though young he was, his spirit burned,

For hope in darkest Mirkwood yearned.

Danel, beside him, fierce and bright,

A far more somber celebration than the previous year, some of those at Numenstaya gather for midsummer. Barahirn has food brought to him, and Ceuro is still too dazed by the death of Aearlinn to attend. Filignil and Parnard do their best to make a feast.