Riddles

R:

No key, this,

by no ring hung:

held aloft,

and with pride

loud-sung!

Opposed pride

so-rendered unstung.

Thus way is given,

and more than way:

kinship and fealty

play part in this lay.

C. I:

Yet not overlong.

For pride - even well-tended

- unchecked,

needs cause much

be broken,

be mended.

C. II:

What bites itself,

as stubborn buckle-strap?

R.:

From bearded mouth, a hope to glean;

its rede: to keep its host unseen.

Water issued to those water-keen,

succour offered to those dread-fleeing.

Water only now held aloft:

What is the name of this proud mouth?

C. I:

Which Ulmo booned, afore its need.

Toothless not, 'midst wind-sung beard.

What bonds proclaimed; what deeds slept near!

What songs thereby the eld did hear!

C. II:

In peace a charm, in war held the least,

its swallowing-up:

((This text, authored by an unknown scribe in Dale during the early Fourth Age, concerns a strange Dalish custom.  For those unfamiliar with the tale of Old Farmer Jack and the Boggart, it is suggested that they first seek out the story in some form.  The version set down here may serve as an adequate example, though any passing Dale-lander will almost certainly be willing to explain and perhaps even demonstrate the custom, if asked.))

Old Farmer Jack sat by the fire, dozing and grumbling on a fine summer’s eve, when ratta-tat-tat! a knocking broke out something fierce at his door.

The night had spread over Bree and the town went silent, it was only the guards that moved about with their lanterns and the lamps here and there spread light on the streets. The windows of the houses were bright and the fireplaces were burning as the townsfolk were trying to stay warm during these last cold days oft he passing winter. As always the Prancing Pony was full people and it was the only place in town that was louder than the nocturnal insects and the occasional owl in the forest.

Diary, all manner of strange things have taken place in the last few weeks, beginning with the feast we enjoyed alongside Loth i Lonnath and some members of the Warband of Imladris.

Four there were gathered in the Hall of Fire... until Tathlas came.

Manadhlaer was known only by epesse -- Tathlas, for all that he was young, was observant. His observations so far had been that she always introduced herself by saying, "I am called Manadhlaer," not "I am" or even "My name is." The name, in her accent so different from his own, seemed fey -- "song of fate" was hardly a name without a certain melancholy to it.

<This note is rather crudely written and appears to have many grammatical-and spelling mistakes.>

Fer'..  These days've been strange. Remis, Zaeh and I've started our trek in search o'm missing peasants. It were a proper and long hike.

I am the many flowers
I am the noble trees
I am the singing birds
The buzzing honey bees
I am the flowing rivers
And the swimming fish
I am the deep stone well
In which you make a wish

I am the fluffy bunnies
The squirrels and the shrews
I am the butterflies
With wings of red and blue
I am the fruiting orchards
With apples at your feet
I am the cherry blossoms
Whose fragrance smell so sweet

Dear Mother and Father,