wanderer

As he reaches the top of the hill, Dinenor glances down to the dell in front of him, smiling happily. ‚Arnor. For far too long have I been gone. But now I am back, beloved home.‘ The ranger looks up to the sky where the sun stands low far in the west; darkness is falling, tarnishing the silhouette of Emyn Uial in the distant south. He puts his gear and weapons down and glances around.

The road stretched on, the old stones broken and grass grew between but it still stood, marking the old route that ran north to south. The day was warm and the only sounds were the rhythmic click of the oaken staff and the hushed scrape of the small footfalls on the Old Road. She knew who had laid the stones she now tread, the men of the west who came and cut down the forests to build their cities. All now fallen but the land never recovered and it was this long memory her people held. Of strangers from the sea, who came with steel and a hunger for timber to build their innumerable ships.

It was a quiet, unassuming night as he made his climb up the shrub covered slopes of the hill towards the dark and brooding pine tree forest above and the remains of once grand fortress that stood perched upon the hilltop for many long forgotten years.