#the secondborn

The sky was grey.  Maglor was often unsure of the sky; as the world aged, and as his despair grew, it almost always seemed grey.  Today, however, he was certain of it:  clouds covered the strand on which he wandered, trudging with heavy, barefooted steps over the sand.

The Tree-light in his eyes had dimmed.  The light that all Quendi possessed, a light that filtered off of his skin, had dimmed as well, to nearly nonexistence.  Still, he drew breath; still, he wandered on.  He remembered to drink water every day, and every few days he remembered to catch something to eat.

But his strength was slowly waning.  Every sunrise he slept a little longer.  Every sunset he slept a little deeper.  Sometimes it took a whole day for him to be able to get up again.  He was beginning to question the point of it.  Worse still were the days when he did not think of anything at all.

He had been walking for two days now without food.  He hadn’t noticed being hungry, so he hadn’t stopped.  He’d noticed being tired, but he’d trudged on nonetheless.  He didn’t care anymore.

Hildórien

"At the first rising of the Sun the Younger Children of Ilúvatar awoke in the land of Hildórien in the eastward regions of Middle-Earth...."