Evening falls heavy upon the land. The whispers of the day grow into shouts, and shouts into silence. Once more, the Fellowship has spoken a choice made in fear and in hope alike.
Beneath the fading light, a lone figure stands before the gathered company.
No word of plea is uttered; no curse escapes their lips. The deed is done, swift and final as the closing of a door long foreseen.
When the last echoes fade, only the wind answers sighing through the trees,
carrying with it the scent of ash and doubt. None can say if the darkness has been driven back, or if the light has dimmed yet further by their own hand.
The Fellowship turns away, hearts heavy and uncertain, for night has come once more to Middle-earth…
The body lies still, and the name is spoken aloud, a sound that cuts the silence like a blade.
It was Vernon the Ranger
The truth of their heart is now known: they stood with the Fellowship.
A murmur ripples through the company part sorrow, part dread. Some avert their gaze; others stare long into the light, as though it might burn away their guilt.
The wind stirs the night’s fire, and with it, the question that haunts them still: Whose voice shall be missing when the dawn returns?
Beneath the fading light, a lone figure stands before the gathered company.
No word of plea is uttered; no curse escapes their lips. The deed is done, swift and final as the closing of a door long foreseen.
When the last echoes fade, only the wind answers sighing through the trees,
carrying with it the scent of ash and doubt. None can say if the darkness has been driven back, or if the light has dimmed yet further by their own hand.
The Fellowship turns away, hearts heavy and uncertain, for night has come once more to Middle-earth…
The body lies still, and the name is spoken aloud, a sound that cuts the silence like a blade.
It was Vernon the Ranger
The truth of their heart is now known: they stood with the Fellowship.
A murmur ripples through the company part sorrow, part dread. Some avert their gaze; others stare long into the light, as though it might burn away their guilt.
The wind stirs the night’s fire, and with it, the question that haunts them still: Whose voice shall be missing when the dawn returns?
