lost

I normally pride myself with a strong internal compass, however my recent venturing into Moria put this to the test in the extreme. I appeared to be unintentionally circumnavigating an area and as I had passed the same craggy outcrop twice I decided to seek assistance. I approached the stable master in the Twenty First Hall but he was not helpful, merely offering me a paid for ride. I declined, I need my coin for my venturing. 

Sewyn was gone. After months of searching, just as she had for Owena, the thought struck her like a rock. 

Mead. Battle. Mead. Sleep.Train. Mead. Tend a horse. Mead. Battle. Battle. Mead.

Life was all the same. Esma had thrived on the thrill of defeating enemies. Orcs, Wargs...yes, they needed to die.
Yet she was tired. So tired.
It was all the same. Was there meaning to it? The more she defeated, the more came later.

Mead was still her best friend, and would continue to be so. But did she have any other friends? Not really. She was alone.

A pair of dark grey eyes peered through the hood and mask, muffled steam rising with each breath as he broke a trail through the snow that gathered on the banks of the half frozen creek. It was quiet, the world crisp and white though he spotted a set of deer tracks that lead to and from the water’s edge. After refilling his waterskin, he made his way back up to higher ground, where the snow thinned, blown by the howling winds that brought the breath of ice down from Forochel.

It was a beautiful morning, Thalanil and the rest of the scout patrol was preparing to go out on patrol in the great Greenwood. It seemed to be a normal patrol, something that they had done several times but this day would not be like any other day.

It has been a long time since I didn't went back to Bree, long time walking trough the lifeless and silent roads of The Lone Lands. I miss the evergreen plains and the forest that spread its woods to everyplace. So one day i went back to Bree, and heard after days the noise of the horses, the chant of the bards, the propaganda of the merchants, the blades crushing in the forge... all that combination of sounds, something that I usually heard before, are nothing more than noise... one that is really disgusting now.

"Why do you not wish to come with us?!" Erië shrieked at her husband, the volume of the voice drowned out by the talking of the many Elves within their company. The twins, Fimon and Ýron, covered their ears as they stood between their parents, who were looking at each other in great anger and pain. Fimon and Ýron wept in each other's arms, seeing their loved ones so estranged: They had never seen such strife and anger among their kin, less even among their parents.