[Envinyatar]

He pulled his brown cape closer about him. It was colder here. He had forgotten. The birds had gone south, and he had followed them, their patterned forms against the sky, leading him on. Now he must return to his dwelling, leaving them to follow him.

Up the Harad Road he had trudged, taking the western fork to Pelargir. The South Road beckoned, leading him north. He hurried through Minas Anor, stopping only briefly at the great library there. Some drawings for the librarian, to place among the stacks.

Past the Grey Wood, he made his solitary way along the foot of the Ered Nimrais, the tap of his staff on the pathway ticking off the miles of the Great West Road. At the boundary of Gondor, he paused in Firien Wood, taking stock of the birds which had wintered there beneath the shelter of the trees and the watchful eye of Halfirien. Then, crossing into The Mark, he pushed on to the River Snowbourne.

It had grown even colder as he entered Edoras. The sign of The White Horse was a welcome sight. He paused at the door, looking for the owl he had seen here in previous travels, but he could not spy him. With a shrug, he pushed open the door to the Inn, and stepped inside, letting the air, warm from the fire and the bodies of the patrons, rush over him. He made his way, unobtrusively, to a table by the window, and sat down with a weary sigh.

A server brought him a small mug of spiced wine. The sweet, heady scent of it preceded the dark, heavy taste as it coursed warmly from lips to stomach. Just the thing to take the edge off the chill. He raised the mug again and sipped at it pleasurably.

A hot meal and a snug bed for the night, he thought, then he would press north, to Fangorn.

[ January 31, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]