Rhaug

"Damn bloody rain," she hissed under her breath, tugging the edges of her heavy, woolen cloak closer about her chest. The sky brooded its low, soot-colored clouds just above the trees, bathing the land in both shadow and drenching moisture. It would make for a glorious display of blooming wildflowers and budding trees in a few weeks, but for now, it was just plain miserable. 

Torchanar paused in his stride, sniffing the crisp winter air. It was faint, so very faint that he thought it might be a trick of his senses. Parting his lips, he inhaled deeply, using the trick to increase the sensitivity of smell. There it was. A trace of the odor of burning. It might have been missed by orc or ordinary men, but Torchanar was Dunedain and his senses well tuned to the natural world.

A pair of dark grey eyes peered through the hood and mask, muffled steam rising with each breath as he broke a trail through the snow that gathered on the banks of the half frozen creek. It was quiet, the world crisp and white though he spotted a set of deer tracks that lead to and from the water’s edge. After refilling his waterskin, he made his way back up to higher ground, where the snow thinned, blown by the howling winds that brought the breath of ice down from Forochel.

Found:

A solution.

Few things in life are truly ideal. There is no relationship that does not have its disagreements. There is no river that does not sport churning waters somewhere along its length. There is no good death, no perfect life, no act of altruism that does not have some seed, however small, of selfishness within. Flawlessness is a flaw in and of itself for in so being, does it not breed greed, possessiveness and jealousy? No, nothing is truly ideal however much we may strive to find or make it.

Found;

A minor setback.

Well, it's not so minor. It has the potential to be deadly in quite a major fashion if I'm not careful, but needs must!

Found;

A possible solution.

I had returned to Trestlebridge, as promised. I was hesitant to enter the place, as I always am. 'Tis not the burned buildings or grubby people. 'Tis not the sense of despair that permeates the place like a cloying cloud. 'Tis not even the lack of decent amenities that makes me dislike the place so. I've come across smaller, dirtier and more disagreeable places on my travels. Rather, it is the way the people look at me when they remember who I am. I'd really rather they didn't.

Found:

The unexpected.

It had been days since I managed anything approaching decent sleep. A few minutes here, a few minutes there. Just long enough for the dreams to start and I'd be awake again. I stayed away from my friends because I don't want them to know. They don't need to know. I don't need the questions. I don't need to explain. I don't want to. So, off to Fornost to find silence amongst the dead.

I never got that far.

Found:

Disquiet.