friendship

Three moons ago Priya had found refuge at the Prancing Pony Inn. The night was setting in and she was on her way to her room when she encountered a strange foreign man, leaning against one of the many doorframes. His dark skin engaged her attention and she eventually found herself asking him ”Why are you brown?”. The man explained he had travelled from South (which was later on specified as Far Harad).

I was glad to find one friend from Bree, then two and sooner than I expected, I found a third one. Along with Terry, I had another dear and close friend of mine.  And I know very well that bestest is not a word. That it is best, not bestest. But I believe bestest describes so well how close friends we were. It was also a word we used between us, telling each other: “You are my bestest friend.” There is no shame in using such a word. My bestest friend’s name was Skarly.

There came a day when Redwick left the Riddermark and Snowbourn that he was so fond of to return Bree-land where he wished to see his friends and companions once more. Though, what he found was more than what he expected and with Therwen tending to his daughter Erline with all her Redwick often lacked the close companionship he once had with her, though he continued to love her and Erline all the same. For he knew that there were a difference between a lover who is a stout shield-maiden and a mother.

My Dearest El,

It has been weeks since I last wrote to you. Two months have passed since my last letter and I fear that this missive bears no better news. I have been gravely injured, and I am lucky to be alive at all. I thank the stars above that I was allowed to keep my life.

Dearest El,

It has been some weeks now since you went thither into the world. I have not heard of your lover since, but then I suspect that her friends are keeping her good company in your absence. My own friends are on the front; I fear that they shall not return this time. It seems as if every time I go out, there is always bad news to be heard from those beleaguered regions.

In Faelalan's room lay a plain oaken trunk, bound by iron straps. There is no lock on it, for there is truly nothing inside it that would interest a would-be robber. Old clothing from another time and of elven make is interred at the bottom, wrapped in yellowing tissue paper and lavender. On top of that are odds and ends; some of it broken jewelry that has no worth other than sentiment. Other parts of this "junk" consist of feathers and trinkets that she must have found pretty to behold.

~~~A Tale of Old Friends~~~