Parnard

It was hers. In the half-light the colour could have been mistaken for another, less experienced eye. It had been shorn with a sharp blade; another obvious sign to one such as he. The mingled blood and mud that caked the red hair? Of that he was less sure. He again felt the fear and anger wash over him, swiftly to be replaced with a feeling of helplessness. They were to be joined as one, he should be able to protect her as he would protect himself. As she would protect him. But he could not, had not. He had failed. His duty? Without doubt. His love? Doubly so.

It is only a dream. I understand that. It is not what I would have chosen.

I know in reality Parnard lies several foot away, bound and gagged. He is bruised and beaten for his continuous efforts at escape. But his spirit is far from broken.

I trust more to the quarrelsome nature of Men, and to the elven artifacts some of them have stolen to see matters return to normality. I trust Estarfin will find us. I am not badly harmed. But I am not free. For now both Parnard and I are bound to what others would inflict upon us.

Estarfin, whatever happens, know I will never choose to leave you. Others have suffered such fears as I, but I am of an old and high blood line. I shall not quail. Be safe, meldanya. Be cunning. Perhaps even open your thoughts to me, rather than shutting yourself away? I know that is asking much of you at this time, but I can do no other.