A sigh of content escaped from Mablung’s lips as he stretched out his legs in front of his very own campfire. His very first, very own campfire. He had grown up (well, a little at least, a small voice within his head said defiantly) during these past years of wandering. While he had ever walked with his parents and little sisters in the beginning, he now chose his friends’ company over that of his family more and more often, and tonight, he had succeeded in making a fire himself, with no help, for the first time. His chest swelled with pride, he still thought a little wistfully of his parents and sisters, though he quelled the feeling quickly, knowing he would see them the next day, see the elflings’ wide-eyed look of awe for the boldness of their brother, and the gentle appreciation in his parents’ gazes.
His heart was warm with the love he felt thinking of them, but at the same time weighed down with pity. He was very lucky to have his family intact, for so many of his companions had set off orphaned, or like Nowë with just one parent left. Many had left the graves also of children or siblings behind, or like Beleg any chance of ever finding their own roots. Found sleeping soundly in the forest by hunters one day, no-one truly knew who Beleg’s parents were, only that they must have been among those that had left the shores of Cuiviénen for the forest, and of whom none remained now. Mablung still smiled at the thought of his friend, who had been raised by the tribe itself, belonging nowhere and yet everywhere, and who would ever leave a smile on every face his bright eyes gazed into. Their childhood by the shores of the still waters had been beautiful, and a small twinge of regret was always there whenever Mablung would think back to the place of his birth. And yet, what awaited them was a better, a safer place. At least so Elwë said, and when Aman was good enough for Elwë, then it was good enough for him.
