Pio put the last flourish to her letter, and setting the quill aside, poured the fine black sand across the inky script. She waited patiently for the sand to absorb the ink puddled on the lines of the letters. Gently she picked up the paper, letting it bow slightly across the middle. A light tap with her free fingers and the sand drifted down to the bottom. The paper, then tipped, delivered the sand back to its container in a fine, dark stream.
She read the letter once more with a critical eye, finding to her satisfaction that it sounded as she wished it to. Pio folded the letter into thirds and placed it in an addressed envelope -
Mithadan
The Lonely Star at Harlond
Minas Anor, Gondor
securing the flap with blue sealing wax and the imprint of a six pointed star.
One of the guests, she had heard, was bound for Gondor that morning. He took her letter and the coins she offered, promising to deliver it with all speed. He was out the door then, and on his way after breakfast.
She stood under the tree in the courtyard, watching the cloud of dust from his mount’s hooves grow small and smaller, wishing all the while the horse would sprout wings and fly.
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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