Dunedain

                Dinengel ducked aside as the large beast bounded towards him.  He struck the ground hard, and staggered back to his feet only to see the warg turning around for a second attack. The Ranger flourished his knife quickly in the warg’s face, causing the animal to hesitate, but only for a moment. Digging it’s hind legs further into the dirt, the warg pushed off with its pointed claws and teeth extended towards the fatigued man.

                In the dark the rustling of bushes could be heard as Dinengel dashed through the forest. Heavily panting as the air passed through his scarred throat, Dinengel dodged around trees trunks and hurtled over shrubs. Some distance off the weighty cantering of heavy paws could be heard amongst a deep menacing growl.

          The dark was quickly approaching as Dinengel rode swiftly through the forested hillside. He had been riding for nearly four hours since his encounter with the Trev Duvardain tribesmen, and was now beginning to falter from his fatigue. He had managed to dress his wounded shoulder in an effective but crude fashion, though he was not sure how long it would last. Surely there would be a search party sent after him, and he had lost his sword in the scuffle at their camp.

                A light rain pattered down as Dinengel was traveling west through the rocky hills of the Ettenmoors. Swiftly and silently, like a gust of wind, he passed between the low trees and bushes of the region. The rain water soaking through his heavy green cloak, and his boots sloshed across the muddy ground.

                It was not yet dark, perhaps only mid day by its look. I chose to continue through this valley, which seems to be lightly freckled with trees and other foliage. The land is remarkably well preserved, the grass keeps a healthy green coloring, and through the trees I could see speckles of brown, orange and red. I wonder if the presence of the Eldar still influenced the land, as it maintained its beauty, even in disarray.

          I awoke to the soft sound of rain pattering on my cloth tent. As I arose, the early morning sun was just creeping over the horizon, and I felt reassured about my current task. It has been 5 months since my last entry in my journal, concerning Forochel, and now again I set off to ensure the stability of the land.

I finally arrived. The Black Chasm better known as Moria. I would stand in front of the entrance to the once rich mine, only to notice another mark to prove that Lirita had passed here before me. An Elvish Dagger, crafted long before my time. We had spoken of how much I had admired it in the past, on occasion. But why would she leave such a thing that would prove useful to her within the mine? I could not say, but when taking it and binding it to my belt I felt as though she was with me. I would send the horse given to me by Halbrandth, on its way, as I would have no further use for it.