ASHEN.
HE FEELS IT---- the redemptive shift of the heavenly bodies indicating another birth of a new day. yet, he does not possess the strength given by respite, as he’s had little to none during his travels through the hills. erebor rarely ever grants him the solitude he often craves, the war having hardened what used to be a cheery, engaged countenance. though he certainly finds joy in his kin’s victories, in their gain and healing, grief still manages to linger in the halls, and it dampens celebrations that he once could have enjoyed. there is good reason that his brother didn’t question his abrupt departure, only giving a simple clap to the back with a, “don’t be long, now.” the only sounds of the forest come from his heavy footsteps, with the occasional breath indicating a burgeoning sense of fatigue. he leans on a low branch, sipping generously from his pouch all the while scrutinizing the lands hiding behind the jagged rocks. moria can’t be too far- he could almost hear the clanking of his company’s hammers, the faint memories of their boisterous voices a welcoming illusion to what lies ahead. oh, how the prince yearns for some form of familiarity that does not remind him of his uncle’s passing--- then, his eyes fall on the slick, black feathers.
