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Old 10-03-2015, 03:34 PM   #153
Galadriel55
Blossom of Dwimordene
 
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Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: The realm of forgotten words
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Galadriel55 is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.Galadriel55 is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.Galadriel55 is wading through snowdrifts on Redhorn.
Balan

But the irises did not bloom for long, for by the time their petals opened, the ancient river has dried. Their blossoms withered, and their leaves lay flat, and their roots turned to dust. Too late their proud stems have bowed to the riverbank, this time to rest there and not rise. Thus went the river, and the irises, leaving no trace that they once ruled this land, and only the earth remained, for only earth is eternal.

The day was tired. It tried halfheartedly to hide it, but gave up the feeble attempt before midmorning. The sun’s beams were too weak to pierce the clouds. The clouds were too pale to cast darkness. The ground was covered with yesteryear’s grass, a sickly yellow hue. The day was weary and drained of colour, its eyes hazy with mist. It barely dragged its feet across the earth, hoping that night would come early to relieve him of that task. But night comes only at its own time. So the weary day must trudge on, its seconds counted by the rhythmic chomping of the ground at travelers’ feet.

For only the earth is eternal. Yes, that would be a good way to end that tale. And end without an end, as all tales should be. Balan liked his new story. He put it in a pocket of his mind, to pull it out when the right time will come.

As the mist ahead of him cleared, he saw a small figure in the distance: a man, making his way north. He must have been going since sunrise, for Balan was walking faster, and he did not see this man at the village where he spent the night. Last night this man must have still been behind him, but set out earlier this morning. One wayfarer is company to another, especially when both are going the same way. Balan quickened his pace.

As he approached, he noticed that the man was slender and short of stature for a man of the Mark. Looking closely, Balan thought that this was a young man, and he appeared weary or cold. Balan reached behind him into his rucksack, assuring himself of his provisions. He had enough food for two, and he would be able to get more food when he reached the next village, or possibly the Mead Hall, which he remembered to be nearby.

“Hoy there, lad! You have walked far this morning,” Balan called out.
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