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Old 10-25-2015, 08:22 PM   #194
Galadriel55
Blossom of Dwimordene
 
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Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: The realm of forgotten words
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Galadriel55 is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Galadriel55 is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Galadriel55 is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Galadriel55 is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
Balan

“And mine is Balan,” he replied. “But I fear you mistook me: I never thought you had committed any crime, but I feared you might do so in the future. When desperation is great enough to make such a small secret matter so much – think of the deeds done by desperate men. And seeing how loathe you were to let go of your secret, surely it is not as unimportant as you make it sound.” Balan sighed. “But I will leave that for you, and finish the tale I began.”

So Balan spoke of the maiden, the last of the people who once dwelt in the land of the Thirsty Desert. ”O Wraith of the Desert!” she called, “Guardian of the Land-That-Once-Was! Come forth and accept these gifts into your keeping!” Her hands burning, she built a round mound from the heated sand. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you our tall towers!” With her knife, she pricked her thumb and let the blood stain the sand. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you the colours of our fields in bloom!” She spread her arms, shielding the mound from the sun. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you the shade of our mighty trees!” A silver tear rolled down her cheek and sunk into the thirsty ground. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you our glittering pearls and flowing rivers!” And with those words her last strength left her, and she fell onto the mound. “O Land-That-Once-Was,” she whispered, “I bequeath to you our quest and my life.”

She never left that mound, but around it an oasis grew. The maiden’s gifts were not powerful enough to restore the land to its former glory, but they were enough to change the desert. The rare travelers who braved that country noticed an island of green at the heart of the yellow wasteland. Thick grasses carpeted the ground, and leafy trees threw out their branches high above. Scarlet flowers bloomed all around. A creek flowed over a bed of while pebbles, until it was sucked in by the dry sand of the desert. The creek flowed from a small round well at the heart of the island, rimmed with sandstone and filled with sweet water. No matter how much the Thirsty Desert drank, the well never emptied. But men who would drink from that well said that as they leaned over the rim, they would hear a girl’s voice whispering to them; and they would say that the maiden never died, but became the guardian of the Green Island. They say also that every day the Wraith of the Desert comes to drink from her well, and he hungers not anymore for the lives of wayfarers. At the Green Island he quenches his thirst, and day after day marvels at the great depths of selflessness.
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