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“I would like to reconsider,” she found herself saying to Elrohir.
He glanced up at her from the piece of parchment he was writing on, lowering the quill in his hand. Elrohir sat back in the simple wooden chair, waiting for her to speak.
The air was cool and soft. She could feel the breeze finding its way under the fine leather armour, but it was a comforting gust – the kind from a summer’s evening. Nelnardis sat under one of the many birch trees near Thorenhad, her eyes closed.
At the end of my fifth day on the road I found myself camping in an old ruin. High within the Trollshaws. As I gazed upon a clear sky and a bright moon I could see the forms of Hithaeglir in the far distance.
Along the road here I came across an elf. He was a scout from Imladris.
I asked him if he by any chance came across the orc messenger and his party. He told me that he had found the track leading towards Hithaeglir but had no intend to pursuit them.
At least I can rest for the night knowing I am on the right track!
The pact with the Stag Clan has been made. Atharan has become friends with them. They told him that the other clans of Dunland have no wishes to assault the northern lands and that they themselves would not stand for such an act either. According to the elder it was best to just keep on their own.
I cannot do it. I cannot. I have tried. I cannot be the happy child these Noldo and Sindar want. I cannot smile and lie about how I feel when I hurt. They are gone forever, and forever is well within the lifespan of an elf.
As a shoemaker, Numedal traveled to the far eastern parts of Eriador and visited the elven heaven of Rivendell. There he made a beautiful pair of green leaf covered shoes for the lord Elrond.