Valanya, the 18^th day of Coirë

Elenya, the 1^st day of Coirë

A curt knock sounded at the door, and Alyanissë turned from her place beside the anvil with an expectant look toward the entrance of the forge.

"Will you get the door, Lothelian? 'Tis Makanárë, without a doubt." Lothelian hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron, and straightened the braid which hung crookedly over one shoulder. The door-knob rattled a bit, and the door itself opened before Lothelian could reach it. She watched, slightly mortified, as  Makanárë strode in, a rather unusual smile on her face.

The sunlight slanted cold and bright through the window, as Makanárë roused herself and threw off the covers. The day had come, at last. Stretching one arm over her head, she arched her back and yawned. It had been so long since she had actually faced one of the Eldar in combat. It was sure to be amusing, though it would be over quite soon, if Nolomir's skills with the sword were what she deemed them to be. She set her face in an impassive expression and threw on an under-tunic, then began to arm herself.

Makanárë had returned to Imladris after ten days on the road, ten days of slipping through woods and scouting under cover of darkness. Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance as she rode through the Gates of Imladris, on an evening when the stars were again veiled by shadow. She had a report for Lord Veryacáno - truly nothing more than a perfunctory record of where and when she had patrolled - there were some signs of brigands and patrolling Orcs upon the road west of the Last Bridge, but that was all. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The sound of a key turning in a lock, then the creak of hinges that had not been opened in more than an Age, and the whisper of fabric on fabric. Makanárë held the lid with trembling fingers as she lifted it hesitantly, gingerly, until it rested fully open.

"I am a disaster waiting to happen, Hendunáro. And I would rather not bring you down with me."