[Alatariel Telemnar]

Finëwen noticed a few people leaving the inn. They were drunk, and their walk was a little tipsy, as they made their way down the dirt road. Finëwen's nagging feeling had gone away, and she decided to turn in for the night. The sooner she went to sleep, the sooner she could go on with her journey.

Yet, she didn’t want to leave the quiet spot under the oak tree. She was left undisturbed there, and could sit in her own thoughts, although she would like someone to talk to, to provoke thoughts within herself. But by just letting herself think, she could do that. Letting her mind wander struck up thoughts in her head, gliding her from one subject to another.

Getting up, she left the peaceful spot under the oak. It disturbed her thoughts, but she felt she needed to get a little bit of rest before the journey. The moon was now high in the sky, and it seemed time was going by quickly, yet not so, sitting there deep in your thoughts, time became very strange, as if... she was already getting lost in her thoughts again, and ignoring them, headed up to her room.

She noticed that nearly everyone else had already gone to bed, except for a few that remained at the table, and a few others scattered about.

In her room, she set her bag down near the window. It had been closed while she was gone, and she propped it open again. The breeze flew into the room, filling it with the cold night air. Finëwen lied down in her bed, and closed her eyes. Once more, her thoughts drifted her away, and she slept.