Vinyalonde

He glanced at the slumbering figures again. The moonlight was not bright enough through the clouds to show the disappointment on his face.

Parnard sat on a fallen tree, feet dangling, the pointed tips of his boots tracing strange figures in the snow.

"That accursed Man is already causing problems, and we are not even deep into the mountains," he said in Quenya softly to Limiriel .

"What kind of problems?"

These were Lord Anglachelm's judgments: that Estarfin should be honored, and not be cast out as some of us feared; he shall be ably employed, and not lose his place and station in the House.

In the silence amongst the trees, a lone archer waits, still, and patient. All is quiet. The birds sing high in the trees, calling to the summer sun with their merry greetings. Finally, in one smooth, graceful motion, she raises her bow and draws back the string. A breeze from the lake lifts the leaves of the trees, sending some spinning slowly to the ground. With a movement as natural as breathing, the archer releases the string, standing motionless for what seems like a long moment, while her arrow speeds to its target.

Yesterday, under the respective command of Lords Veryacano, Khalis a

Parnard observed the stranger standing before him. She was tall, clothed in a gray dress, and over this hung a starched white apron. Her hair was a mousy, nondescript brown; wispy tufts stuck out from underneath a linen cap. Her eyebrows were thin and arched severely, like two scrawny cats stretching their backs. Over her shoulder swung a large burlap sack, which clanked every now and again. She seemed to be greatly interested in the interior of his room, and was at the moment running a fingertip along the top of his desk and frowning at what was stuck to it.

Honoured Lady,

Throughout all time, the light of our people shines in the darkness. But the design of the Enemy is to keep us apart, because he could not keep light out of the world entirely; and when he could not do that, he spared no pains to sunder ties of kinship and set Men against us.

It is said in the Valley that the Enemy is preparing to strengthen his dominion by the continuation of destruction of the lives and lands of the Free Peoples everywhere, and moves forth to open War.

It was late, and the fireflies were winking love by the time she arrived, but she saw a light shining within. She rang the bell and the door quickly opened.

“Does the Lord Ambassador lodge here?” asked Ruineth.

“Sometimes,” replied Losshell. “He keeps a room here, and I see to it, and take in his letters for him.”

“Is he here now?”
“No. He has not been here since the morning.”

All the day long doing work, writing over list after list by my own hand, because when Sorontar finished it, by mistake I laid hold of the inkpot and not the sandbox, and almost blotted out the accounts. This put Sorontar into a hurried sort of fit, and I grew worried for his sake, so I said I would copy it again for him.

My Lord,