orcs

Running softly, Asmalinde made her way through the Old Forest and over the escarpment that led into the bowl of Tyrn Gorthad, The Barrow Downs. The barrows were the ancient cemeteries of the Northern Kingdom of Cardolan. The surface was barren and covered with knee to chest high grasses. Timeless cenotaphs jutted from the earth like staggered teeth. Starlight pierced the low lying fog and cast intricate shadows upon the boulders and old gravestones.

It has been some time since I set quill to this old journal. Whether out of laziness or just not wanting to read my own thoughts, I can't tell. I have time now, laying in bed so here it goes. 

Each day I feel like I'm closer to leaving this world but each time something keeps me from falling and instead I lie injured for awhile.
I am tired of this pain but I have no choice but to continue, for the Free People.

After the last attack on the Angle we laid traps to prepare since if they have found us once then there is no mistake they will find us again and sadly we were right.

The road was long and his pace slow as he was passing around the mountains, between which the orcs had their camps and Fiontann walked around them quietly, he had left Hedinn in Trestlebridge and made his way on foot so that he would leave less tracks behind him. Now the way back seemed longer than it was when he traveled towards Kingstead. The river was cold but luckily for him he found some shallow spots to avoid being too long in it and as soon as he reached the other side he made a small camp to dry out before setting off again, even a small cold could mean death out there.

Dusk in Mirkwood, somewhere south of Ost Galadh