The small kingfisher landed on a flat rock in the middle of the stream, reflections of the sun dancing across the surface creating a mosaic-like pattern as a backdrop to its perfectly still silhouette. Suddenly it dives, and emerges a few seconds later a small fish in its beak. The bird rustles its wing feathers and takes flight, busy. Maedhrathin smiles at the small drama of nature before him. He is sitting crossed legged by the stream in solitude, fishing rod on his left side, untouched. Tuilérie is gone. A pilgrimage of sorts to Eregion, as he had came to understand it.
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