Water Rushing Over Stone - Ji'erre's journey

[StarlitIndigo]

The blade of Cormanthor



... Ji'erre felt her life had been cut in twain - her childhood and youth, growing up in Tangled Trees, then exploring the Rawlinswood and the Mhyrrwood - and life after returning to Cormanthor, after wild raids and raging battles, after fighting with family and friends for her homeland, after death and loss and victory.

She left Tangled Trees again once the Elves had secured their victory - hers was not the way of salvage and rebuilding. She was a weapon, wielded for the Leaflord's cause and the Elven People's. Somewhere between the battle fury and the glory of the fight, she had become something more - and something less.

She pondered this, on the journey back to the Vast, hopeful of a reunion with the Druid who seemed to still watch over her from afar.

She thought on it, in reverie at Naarel's side after pitched battles with the stinking orc hordes in the Gurok Flats, in accordance with his vigil.

And she reflected on such during solitary scouts of the Mhyrrwood, the Aldarra, the Elder, and the Oakwood, while wandering their tangles, while perched in their towering trees.

Betimes she could hear, in the serenity of reverie, her brother's voice resonant with passion before enjoining in another strike against their dark foes within Cormanthor: "I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness; I love only that which they defend."




A river scintillates within its deep cradle, rivulets braiding over tumbled stone.

The Wood Elven woman walked and wandered, considered and contemplated, ever-vigilant and ever-thoughtful, while her bow sang and her blades flashed.

Her feet found her again in the timeless expanse of the Oakwood.






[ "I do not love..." - excerpted from a quote by Faramir in Lord of the Rings. ]