{date uncertain}
< Prev Olwë
The giant swan landed with the soft swoosh of feathers and the gentle bump that betokens the grace of the breed. Olwe dismounted on shaky feet, his hand upon the heaving side of the bird and felt tremors of exhaustion go through the white swan. For a moment, he leaned against the bird, hunger and a deep ache from being so long in the saddle told him more of the distance he had travelled than any star in the sky, for the moment. Taking a deep breath, he stroked the swan's neck lovingingly. The swan, in turn, craned her head around to regard the elven lord with a eye round and dull with weariness. Pushing off from the bird, Olwe walked stiffly a little ways and started to gather dry wood for a fire. The wood was green and the fire more smoke than light, but Olwe was glad of the warmth and huddled close to it, as the swan tucked her head under her wing and nestled down to a well deserved sleep.
Wrapping his cloak around him, he pulled out a well worn journal and his travelling ink bottle and quill. Defly he opened the jar and dipped the nib of the quill in. Tilting the journal so he could better see the page, he starts to write:
< Prev Olwë
The giant swan landed with the soft swoosh of feathers and the gentle bump that betokens the grace of the breed. Olwe dismounted on shaky feet, his hand upon the heaving side of the bird and felt tremors of exhaustion go through the white swan. For a moment, he leaned against the bird, hunger and a deep ache from being so long in the saddle told him more of the distance he had travelled than any star in the sky, for the moment. Taking a deep breath, he stroked the swan's neck lovingingly. The swan, in turn, craned her head around to regard the elven lord with a eye round and dull with weariness. Pushing off from the bird, Olwe walked stiffly a little ways and started to gather dry wood for a fire. The wood was green and the fire more smoke than light, but Olwe was glad of the warmth and huddled close to it, as the swan tucked her head under her wing and nestled down to a well deserved sleep.
Wrapping his cloak around him, he pulled out a well worn journal and his travelling ink bottle and quill. Defly he opened the jar and dipped the nib of the quill in. Tilting the journal so he could better see the page, he starts to write:
"Cold on this journey
and weary am I.
The Road stretches
before me.
No end in sight.
If I chose the wrong road
would happen then.
If I take the wrong path
Would I see you again?
My homeland is empty
the music is dead wind.
I hear only shadows
of voices now stilled.
If I am the wrong one
would darkness descend?
If I should fail
What happens then?
Oh, hear my pain in my heart.
Oh, hear the cold in my soul.
The spirit of those have gone
Call out to me in the night.
Every step I take
an echo it makes.
I walk alone
to an end I can't see.
If my steps should falter,
who would catch me?
If I have doubts,
then how can I lead?
Oh, hear the pain in my heart.
Oh, hear the cold in my soul.
The spirit of those have gone
Call out to me...in the night."
> Next Olwë