[piosenniel]

A small sailboat lay abandoned on the island shore. Left there he supposed by the men who fished these waters. Lindir had come soon after, asking only that he might be left on the mainland shore. Endamir had nodded, agreeing mutely that Lindir's needs would be seen to.

The two companions placed a folded canvas in the bottom of the boat and laid Orëmir’s body upon it. His hands, lying one upon the other, lay on his breast; his blade hung by his side. At his head Endamir placed the small chest his brother always carried with him, the one that held the herbs and unguents and such that were the tools for his healer’s skill. At his feet sat Endamir, his right hand set firm on the tiller; his left holding the line that moved the little sail.

~*~

‘A fair wind and a following sea……’ spoke Lindir as he waved the little craft off from the rocky strand to which it had come to let him off.

No words came back to him.

Endamir sat silent, his grey eyes darkly clouded as he gazed west. He set the course. And like a small bird the boat flew over the waves, leaping up to catch the wind.

The stars shown brightly as the day turned and through the dark night and the following days the little craft sailed far from the rocky shores of Mithlond, until at last the seas of the Bent World fell beneath it, and the winds of the round sky troubled it no more, and borne into the Ancient West, an end was come for the brothers at long last though what it might have been is not told in story or in song.....