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Old 01-21-2004, 12:56 AM   #68
Child of the 7th Age
Spirit of the Lonely Star
 
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Sting

Aiwendil:

As they made their way around the great port, Aiwendil stood near the rail, watching the distant lights of Umbar fade away. The istar paid little attention to the exchange of goods or the friendly bartering that was soon being played out on the deck of the vessel. Yet once the captain gave the signal to be off, he'd quickly come aboard the small skiff and put his hand to the heavy oar with a degree of enthusiasm and anticipation that far exceeded his usual manner.

For some unknown reason, he felt more alert and awake than he'd done for some time. Aiwendil pushed his shoulder into the task, and felt his muscles ache in response -- a good, healthy twinge that reminded him he was actually doing something productive.

The moon's pale glow spilled over onto the coast and afforded just enough illumination that the wizard could make out the shoreline and the landscape that lay beyond it. To his right, hugging the water's edge, he could see the shadowy outline of a far range of mountains that curved inland and disappeared somewhere to the south. Straight ahead and further north, he observed no signs of habitation, only the endless blowing sands, barely discernible in the dim grey shadows.

Outwardly, this dry piece of earth looked nothing like the gardens he'd tended back home: all brown, and parched, and stretched, with no greeness about it. Yet somehow those endless sands reminded Aiwendil of the place from which he'd come in a way that he'd almost forgotten. They were more beautiful and wild than anything he'd seen in Middle-earth, even the rugged forests near the Anduin. The tawny hills rolled on forever almost like the Sea, carrying along a quiet hint of the endless ages that had already passed and those that were still to come.

Aiwendil laughed at his own reflections. Strange that he should be thinking of Valinor; such things had not crossed his mind for longer than he could remember. With a final heave on the oars, the small boat came running into the tiny natural harbor, nestling down beside its larger neighbors. The istar stretched out his legs and tried to stand up, still wobbling a bit from the transition to dry land. He caught hold of Rôg's arm and steadied himself, stepping out onto the sandy shore.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:33 AM January 22, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]
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