Sorrow

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Why now? is this real?

his stinky breath, horrible hands trying to pull me

I can't anymore

Lothlorien had been beautiful. The golden Mallorns were a balm to Envandiel’s soul as she sat under their ancient beauty. Galadriel was a gracious host, and the journey with the Eledhrim of Aurandel and Airingil had been healing. 

From a height so tall, water falls falls falls.
Crashes to rocks beneath in a loud call.
With no fear, breaks and scatters in the air.

(The pages in this entry, are stained with tears, but the Lady would trust that none would invade her privacy.) There are stories that we tell, in order to appease others. Then there the tales that we keep deeply hidden within our hearts. I won't begin to tell acquaintances and friends alike the details of my departure from Rohan. Or the troubling words of Raymond when we first parted. I did not love him then therefore I could not say he was my first. What was he to me then?

A poem Syllea wrote in dedication of Egfor, someone she is growing fond of and feels she is gaining a friendship with.

A strong man,

From the outside.

But full of sorrow and grief,

 Syllea skips into the Prancing Pony, expecting it to be any other day. Full of mischief, laughing, and maybe some writing. Seeing Demlemoth not in his usual spot by the stairs she set herself down there.

I do not know where to start. At the first glance Daegond might have been strange, crude and even mean to a person who did not know him, but he had more than meets the eye. Profound loyalty to those he protects. The reasons why he was behaving the way he did. A softer side which the Noldorin (or any) warrior tries so hard to hide under their shell of steel.

All I have in my mind are the scenes of meeting him.

Sewyn was gone. After months of searching, just as she had for Owena, the thought struck her like a rock.