[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir knelt beside the fire and, retrieving a long stick from the ground, poked impatiently at the egg of a sea bird he had found earlier that morning, which now sat roasting on the edge of the coals. Rolling the egg out from the fire, he reached down to pick it up, burning the tips of two fingers while muttering to himself. The Elf was finding it difficult to concentrate on breakfast or anything else he should be doing when snatches of painful conversation and precarious memories surrounded him and threatened to overwhelm them all.

Glancing directly at Tasa, Lindir shook his head and sighed, choosing his words with care. The forced gruffness of his voice did little to mask the evident discomfort he was feeling upon hearing so much talk of the past. "Enough of this. Tasa, your words ring true. But what can we gain by sitting here and talking? The sun is up and we have finished our morning meal. Surely it is time to set words behind. Let us lie the voices and ghosts to rest, for once and all."

With that, Lindir went over to pick up his gear and heave it upon his shoulders, calling out to Malris, "Is it not time to be on our way? Last night, you could not wait. Let us make our way to the high hill that we may finish our errand before night comes, for I would not wish to be in that place when shadows fall. Too much blood was spilled there."