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"Thus ended the Siege of Angband; and the foes of Morgoth were scattered and sundered one from another. The most part of the Grey-elves fled south and forsook the northern war."
...and at times of leisure he would ride through the open plains of Lothlann, and a harsh wind made the grass move like waves of sand, and the clouds like shreds of scattered laughter.
And under a sky so wide, so large, he knew he was home, for he belonged to Middle-Earth.
He spat a mouthful of blood and saliva onto the patchy grass of the training field; his lungs burning from exertion. His limbs felt like lead weights and sweat ran from his brow down his face. He looked at the blunt training sword laying in the damp grass and steeled himself for the effort to reach down and pick it up.