[Imladris]

With the congenital equilibrium that is so peculiar to our felinity, I remained upon Taliesin’s wasted twisted shoulders. ’Twas strange the revolutions of time that spun the thread of mortal’s lives: long ago, when the kitten’s fur had but shortly left me, I had been here before. But then another shoulders, strong and lithe with the vigor of youth, had born my frosted aurulent aura. Faran: noblest of bipeds. Now all he was was cadaver, the remnants of which will undoubtedly be found in various edacious, beaked beings that follow the trail of vermilion cruor
in times cruel conflict.

Do not ask me the location or the time of day of his death, for I, most ignobly, was cowering within the frail arms of a ligneous cottage within the fortress of Helm’s Deep. It was there that I sullied the sublime intemerate nobility that I once could claim as my own. The shafts of death that winged over the walls should have been as the phantoms of my imagination to me and that I failed was a transgression of such ponderous, colossal proportions that I contemplated the aggregation my beloved throne. But, after cool reasoning, I realized that I could not and that the only thing that remained to be done was to acquire a new master who would become my sole subject. And amid the healing houses tainted with the air of bereavement, I found Taliesin.

A film has formed before my eyes, and all the activities of this inn are nothing but a whimsical blur of motion. No longer do I roam the wooden floors with coquettish grace, no longer seek for milk from a ladies ivory hand. As a layman, I sit upon Taliesin’s shoulders, and as a servant I travel the dusty roads with this man who, over the years, has become my devoted friend.