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A gust of wind.
Whispers in the grass.
The breath of Ard-Galen.
Whispers in the grass.
If the meadows stop breathing,
Valariandë will fall, they say.
A gust of wind.
Whispers in the grass.
I can hear it…
The breath of Ard-Galen.
„When the wolves of Angamando tear your flesh apart and break your bones, and devour your intestines you will think about me, Macilvelco, Yonya. You will understand my words… but it will be too late by then.“
I have been called back to service, in the Lone Lands and as I look around at the beauty and splendour of Falathlorn, a small part of me wishes to remain and never venture beyond the beauty of these gardens - yet the greater part of me is glad for I will be with my friends and kin.