rohan

Our days seem to grow ever darker, even as winter has finally left us and the sun rises up earlier each morn, and stays up until later in the eve. Yet there is still that crude feeling of unrest in the air, paired with the smell of distant black smoke and an ominous mist rolling down the mountains. The worried whispers and watchful eyes among the guardsmen keep speaking of a shared fear, and Denholm does all he can to keep the morale up in these times of turmoil.

I am home. At least, that is what I tell myself as I cross the threshold of Bancross once more. The familiar sight of the village should feel comforting, but there is a weight in the air, subtle, yet unmistakable. The land has changed, or perhaps it is I who has changed. The streets are a little busier, the buildings a little taller, but there is no denying the quiet stillness that lingers here. Perhaps that is what makes it home.

From darkling woods with dwimmer wails

and icy ire, iron-keen

heavy pressed the heedless wind. 

When Edenric thought of the concept of home, many were the places he could imagine.

~Caras Galadhon~

Thibinoriel was sitting at her desk with quill in hand when she heard a knock on the door frame outside her study. Standing there was her sister Eregiel.

'Nésa, do you have a moment?' Eregiel asked.

'For you, dear nésa, I have *two* moments,' replied Thibinoriel with a laugh. Eregiel laughed, too.

“When last I saw you, Morcaer of Fenmarch, you were taller and your hair fairer, and you held yourself high with pride.” 

“That may be so, lady, but many men are colored by their deeds, and in the light of day I am yet a bolder man and braver. The sun once shined on me kindly, but no longer, and now all good fortune has forsaken me. All that I loved, I have left behind.”