Manadhlaer

Ealendil lets her gaze wander the rolling plains before the Redhorn Pass, no movement, no breeze stirring the grasslands, not even a bird of prey hovering in the air… It was the morning the day after she had left Earcalie north of the dry riverbed of Nan Sirannon. Earcalie had continued on her own back to Imladris, and Ealendil had since been following days old tracks from a large party going north.

A letter is delivered to the house of healing, addressed to Lady Manadhlaer, in the last week of the month Gwirith.

It may not be as elegantly written as one of her own, but the flowing handwriting of Ealendil in the form of the Tengwar common to Doriath of old, is quite distinguishable.

Dear Lady Manadhlaer

I have not kept track of my painting in the last days too often in the form of Tengwar – since the brush strokes of light, shadow and colours are also a language, I have let it speak instead.

Ancalasse did not blink an eye that night. 

There were many angles to the fight that was coming the next day. If Daegond to kill Meluilindele, which he thought Daegond would Losgael would be strayed from her order and grief would consume her. Reducing her into a pile of rubble.

If he did deny Daegond to fight, the hound would surely use it to his benefit. Spreading tales of favouritism. The previous time he did that in the mountains was nearly disastrous for Ancalasse's well established reputation as a good quartermaster.