Six human years and ninety-one days from the day I have left Lothlorien, two seasons and twelve days from the ambush, three days from the dawn the warden has left for the battle.
I've been here for a long time now, running errands and trying to protect this haven. The locals are getting used to me already, their acts are much more gentle towards my existence, though I am not spending my time in the town. Most of the hours, I am scouting outside, roaming on the hills, trying to learn if any trouble would pass by, or fall upon us. And every night, I visit the town, see if any news came from the fields of Angmar. No word has passed to me so far, I don't even know if the warden have reached there yet.
From a word I have heard from a hunter nearby, I have learnt that there was a cursed land in the color of blood, a dark and wretched red, where the dead get up on their feet and wander, just at the east of the dwelling. I've decided to take my leave there, and see what nightmares live in these ruins. The rumors mention some "master of the dead", but I cannot understand the nature of these tales. What kind of master the dead could have there?
I can't learn until I take my leave there. I will prepare my bow and sharpen my daggers this night, I'm not capable of guessing what lies beyond that red atmosphere.
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