the early bird

Captain Oliel was on deck, supervising repairs to the main mast. “Good morning, my friend,” he said to Faramir. “Come below; I have not forgotten my promise to you.”

“Your promise?”

“To return your money.”

“Oliel! That is not why I have come! But I...”

Faramir glanced around. Several of the sailors, though busy, were listening to their Captain’s business with interest. “I would like to speak to you in confidence,” he said.

“If it’s about—”

“Just ten minutes of your time, Oliel,” said Faramir. “Please?”

“Come below, then.”


Oliel closed the door of the small cabin. “Is this about Gwirith?”

“Of course.” Faramir sat down on the narrow bunk bed. “Why, Oliel? After all these years of searching, why hand her to another man?”

“It was Gwirith’s decision, Faramir. And Ribhadda’s a good man.” Oliel uncorked a bottle of spirits and poured two large measures.

“Yes, he is. And he loves her. But she loves you.”

“Then why did she change her mind? Why did she decide to stay?” He held out one of the glasses.

“Do you really not know?” said Faramir, accepting the drink.

For a long moment, he stared into the brown liquid, then, with a shrug, he knocked it back—“Gods!”—and shuddered, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Gwirith needed reassurance, Oliel; when she told you how she had killed Abdi, she needed... Something. Anything. Anything would have been better than silence.”

“I am not a demonstrative man, Faramir. I can’t help—”

“But you searched for seven years!”

“That was the easy part.”

“Do you want to lose her?”

“It’s too late.”

“No, it is not too late! But it is time to make a decision. If you want her—if you can live with the woman she has become—go to her. Go to her, and tell her, and make her believe it.”


The funerals

There were two funerals that morning.

The first, attended by the Hatja, his heir, Lord Aperel, his Court, and various visiting dignitaries, was held in the Valley of Tombs, the traditional resting place of the rulers of Carhilivren.

The second, attended by just four mourners (one of them under guard), took place in the commoner’s cemetery, close to where Hentmirë’s parents lay buried.


Eowyn watched the gravedigger as he slowly shovelled sand onto Wolfram's coffin. “Do you think he is with his ancestors, Lassui?”

“I am not sure that a man like that has ancestors, Melmenya, ” said Legolas, gently taking her arm and trying to draw her away, but Eowyn resisted, slipping her mantle from her shoulders and dropping it into the grave.


“It may be cold there, Lassui,” she said.

“Oh, do not feel guilty, meleth nín,” said Legolas, wrapping his arm around her. “Sooner or later, someone would have killed him—I would have killed him.”

“I know... But...”

“But he saved your life.”

Eowyn shook her head. “It is not just that...” She slid her arm around his waist. “I wanted him dead, Lassui. In my mind, he was a monster. But in reality, he was just a man. And when he died, he was smiling. I think that the gods had forgiven him.”

“For saving you, my darling.” He kissed her forehead. “Come, Eowyn nín. There is nothing you can do now...”


Navaer, mellon nín,” whispered Vardamir, his head bowed, his hand upon his heart. “No baid lín galen a glor...” He raised his head. “He was the only friend I ever had.”

Hentmirë bit her lip. “I am sorry.”

“And he loved her. In his own way.”

“But she was not meant for him, Master Vardamir,” said Hentmirë. “We must pray that his spirit has found peace at last. And that you...”

She looked up at the elf. “When my parents died, Master Vardamir, I thought I would be alone forever. And I was alone for a very long time. But then Legolas came, and Eowyn, and Prince Faramir and his friend, and March Warden Haldir and his friend, and suddenly...”

She patted his arm. “Never give up hope, Master Vardamir. Be brave and do the best you can, and do not give up hope...”


The wedding

Since the official period of mourning had already been observed—two years earlier—the Hatja decreed that his son’s funeral would be followed by just seven days of prayer and fasting, and that the marriage of his heir, Lord Aperell, would take place on the eighth day.

Five days after the burial, Lord Abdosir and his daughter arrived on the outskirts of Carhilivren, where they camped for two nights, awaiting the hour when Lady Bint-Anath, dressed in her golden wedding gown, would make her joyful entry into the city.


“You have a visitor, my Lady.”

“Tonight?” Bint-Anath looked up from her book. “Who is it, Aneksi?”

“The other young man, my Lady—the secretary.”

Berengar?” Bint-Anath leaped to her feet. “Does my father know he is here?”

“Lord Abdosir has given his permission, my Lady. I am to stay here with you—”


“And there will be guards outside the door.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Those are your father’s orders, my Lady.”

“But Berengar has already proved—oh, very well, if my father insists. Show him in, Aneksi.” Bint-Anath closed her book and laid it on her bed, then turned to greet her visitor.

“My Lady.” Berengar bowed low. He was dressed in loose trousers, and a waistcoat of midnight blue silk spangled with silver stars, and his unruly dark hair, framing his bronzed face, fell about his bare, lightly muscled shoulders.

Bint-Anath ran forward, and caught his hands. “Berengar! It is good to see you!”

“Hello, Bint-Anath.” He kissed her hand. “I wanted to wish you joy,” —he smiled—“and to give you this.” He handed her a tiny object wrapped in silk.

“What is it?” Bint-Anath pulled open the wrapping and examined the gift closely.

“It is a gold ten-piece, from my own country, Gondor.”

“Your king is handsome. But not so handsome as you.”

Berengar smiled. “It is a pledge,” he said. “If ever you should need a champion, Bint-Anath, return it to me and I shall come immediately—though I should point out that, since my skills lie more in the administrative sphere than in warfare or diplomacy, I may have to bring Prince Faramir along to assist me.”

Bint-Anath laughed. “Thank you, Berengar. I shall treasure it always.” She kissed his cheek. Then she crossed to her dressing table and carefully locked the coin in a small casket. “Will you drink a toast with me?”

“I would be honoured.”


The woman hesitated, mindful of Lord Abdosir’s orders, but—at a frown from her mistress—she left to fetch some wine.

“Good,” said Bint-Anath. “I did not want her listening.” She motioned Berengar to sit down. “I can never thank you enough for what you have done for me,” she said. “A less honourable man would have thrown me out—or taken advantage—or, perhaps, have demanded a ransom. But you went out of your way to help a girl who had caused you nothing but trouble—”

“It was Faroth—”

No,” said Bint-Anath. “No. It was you. Whatever Prince Faramir may have done, he did for your sake. Thank you Berengar.”

Berengar looked away, embarrassed by her praise. “It was nothing, really. I, er, I just—oh, what are you reading?” He picked up her book.


But he had already opened it, at random, and was studying a beautifully painted miniature of a man and a woman (on her hands and knees)...

He closed the book.

Bint-Anath blushed. “I thought I should find out... Because I know so little; I know less than my maids...”

Berengar smiled at her, fondly.

“It was a good idea,” he reassured her. “But you already know everything you need to know, in here.” He patted his own chest. “You love Aperel and he loves you. So just listen to your heart, Bint-Anath. It will tell you what to do.”


The following morning, Lady Bint-Anath, carrying a Gondorian coin for good luck, entered Carhilivren in a golden palanquin, with her father at her side.

She was received at the gates of the Palace by her future father-in-law, the Hatja, and escorted into his private temple, where, before a host of courtiers and foreign dignitaries, she was married to Lord Aperel.

Then the young couple descended the temple steps, and walked slowly round the great Central Court of the Palace, greeting the throngs of people who had gathered to congratulate their popular young lord and his lady.

Hentmirë, standing just outside the temple, amongst the guests of honour, threw a handful of petals at the bride as she passed. The pale flakes rose in the air, swirled in the lightest of breezes, and fell back upon the thrower.

Legolas laughed. “You look like an elleth at her coming of age ceremony, gwendithen,” he said, giving her a hug. “But more surprised!”


Dawn, the next day

Eowyn awoke and stretched her limbs. Beside her, the bed was empty.


Wrapping herself in a sheet, she padded out onto the balcony. Legolas was leaning over the wall, gazing out to sea. “Can you feel it, Melmenya?”

“Feel what?” She came up beside him and let him gather her close.

“The wind,” said Legolas. “Coming from the south west.” He looked down at her, smiling. “I think we shall soon be leaving, Melmenya. I think we can go home at last!”


Setting sail

The Early Bird was due to sail with the tide, at half past two.

At eleven, the roc arrived carrying Valandil and Wilawen; shortly afterwards she returned with Figwit.

“Tell Prince Legolas what you have decided,” said Wilawen, excitedly.

“I should like to come back with you,” said Figwit. “If you will allow me.”

Legolas placed his hand on his heart and bowed his head in a formal greeting. “You are most welcome, Aegnor,” he said. Then, with a smile—and much to Figwit’s surprise—he embraced the Rivendell elf, human fashion.

“See,” said Wilawen, “we told you.”

At midday, when the final preparations were complete and the friends and their luggage had been installed in the cabins, and Vardamir had been found a small room below decks, Faramir received a visitor.

“I’ve come to say good bye,” said Oliel.

“You are leaving without her?”

Oliel nodded. “I did go to see her,” he said, “as ordered. But she seemed so—I don’t know, Faramir—so happy with him—I couldn’t speak.”

“I am so sorry, Oliel.”

“Do not be, my friend,” said the Sea Captain. “We found her, and now she is safe—that is the main thing.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll keep doing what I’m good at,” said Oliel, “carrying passengers, helping people rescue their loved ones—if you should ever want to return to Far Harad, my friend—”

“I will come straight to you.”

Faramir removed a heavy ring from his finger. “This is my seal,” he said, “take it. I shall soon be needing someone I trust to make regular runs from here to North Ithilien with cargoes of small items—perfumes, cordials, candied fruits. Come and visit me in Caras Arnen, Oliel, and we will make a formal contract.”

“I shall, Faramir. Thank you.”

The two men embraced. Less than an hour later, Faramir watched the Hunter sail out into open sea, heading northwards.


“You really didn’t need to come with us, Rib,” said Gwirith.

Looking up at the Early Bird, she waved to Legolas and Hentmirë. “Keret has come to say good bye to you,” she called.

“And to Gimli!” shouted the boy.

The three friends came down the gang plank, followed by Eowyn.

“Good bye, Keret,” said Hentmirë, hugging him tightly. “Remember to be good for your mother.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Take good care of him,” she said to Gwirith.

“I shall, Lady Hentmirë.”

Keret turned to Legolas. “How do elves say good bye?” he asked.

Legolas smiled. “You put your hand on your heart like this, bow your head, and say ‘Navaer. Gûren ninnatha nanarad as achên len’.”

Navarrr,” purred Keret. “Gurren nin atha nana-akken-len...” He hugged Legolas for good measure.

Then he turned to Gimli.

Rasup gamut,” said Gimli. “Tan menu selek lanun naman, tak khaz meliku suz yenetu. Now come here, laddie!” He smothered Keret—who was no taller than himself—in a great bear hug. “Remember to visit us in the Forest when you are older, lad. We shall all be waiting.”

“Good bye, Ribhadda,” said Eowyn, quietly. “Thank you for the kindness you showed me when I invaded your storeroom—it seems so long ago, now—and for the help you have given us since.”

Ribhadda kissed her hand. “The pleasure was mine, my Lady.”

“Would you like me to fetch Cyllien?”

Ribhadda shook his head. “I’ve said my good byes to her and Haldir,” he said, “but...” He turned to Legolas. “Can I ask you both a favour?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have room for two more passengers? A woman and a boy?”

Legolas looked from Ribhadda to Gwirith and Keret, and back again. “We can find room for them, of course,” he said, “but—”

“What are you saying, Rib?” asked Gwirith.

Ribhadda took her by the hands and drew her a little way apart. “You belong with these people, Riya. I wasn’t sure before... But now I can see it. You belong with them and with your husband. Shhhhh—you’ve got to listen to me.

“Do you have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here, Riya? Nine chances out of ten we’d both wind up in the Hatja’s prison. And then who would look after the boy?”

“You’re saying this only to make me go.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” Ribhadda corrected. “Inside of us we both know you belong with Oliel. You’re a part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If you’re not with him you’ll regret it.”


“Oh, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon, Riya. And for the rest of your life.”

“But what about us?”

“We’ll always have what we had. We didn’t; we’d lost it until you came back to Carhilivren. We got it back in the last few days.”

“I said I would never leave you.”

“And you never will. Go with them, Riya; go and find Oliel, and let the boy live somewhere clean.”

Gwirith raised her eyes to his, and a look of understanding passed between them. Then, “Good bye Rib,” she said, softly. “May the gods bless you.”


Ribhadda watched the Early Bird sail out of the harbour. Everybody moves on, he thought; he turned to leave.

Standing in his path, regarding him with dark, painted eyes, was a familiar, kilted figure.

“Master Kurian.”

“Master Ribhadda,” said the Kurian.

“You’re leaving?”

“No. I have missed ship. I must wait.”

Ribhadda looked him up and down, thoughtfully. “You looking for a job?”

“To do what?”

“Oh—this and that. Captain Ramess’s replacement’s a new broom, and he’s sweeping Carhilivren clean with a vengeance. It might be useful to have someone around who can keep his eyes and ears open. Someone, you understand, who doesn’t speak the language.”

The Kurian smiled—and Ribhadda noted that the healer had done an extremely skilled job on his face. He’ll attract a different sort of customer, that’s for sure, but, in his own way, he’ll be as big a draw as Cyllien was...

“I understand,” said the other man, “but why you trust me?”

“I’ll be paying your wages.”

“I take your job.”

“Good.” They shook hands. “Master Kurian,” said Ribhadda, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


Farewell, sweet lady

As Hentmirë’s boat rounded the rocks at the harbour mouth and caught the wind in her sails, a giant bird swooped down from the sky and crossed her bows, crying plaintively.

Figwit ran along the deck and climbed atop the forecastle. “Navaer, híril velui,” he called, waving his hand in farewell. “Avo aphado nin, meldis nín!

The roc circled her beloved master one last time, then rose up into the cloudless blue sky and, with steady wing beats, cut out across the sea, back towards her mysterious home.

Nîr tôl erin baded lîn,” whispered Figwit.

The elf dropped lightly to the deck and walked to the stern, never taking his eyes from the bird’s silhouette.

And there he remained, standing at the taff rail, staring back towards Carhilivren, until—long after sunset—Valandil and Wilawen persuaded him to join the others below decks.


An honest woman

“You knew him before he was kidnapped,” said Wilawen, closing the cabin door; “was he always so unworldly...?” She looked around the narrow, corridor-like cabin, then down at the elf, who was sitting on the lower of two bunks. “Valandil?”


“This is a very small room.”

“I believe it is called a cabin.”

“I know it is called a cabin, Valandil. That does not change the fact that there is nowhere for us—for me—to wash or undress.”

Valandil smiled. “Would you like me to move in with Figwit, meleth?”

Wilawen bit her lip. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Valandil patted the lumpy mattress.

Wilawen sat down beside him. “I told you that I have never—er—” She waved her hand, giving Valandil the opportunity to catch it and draw it to his lips.

“Yes.” Kiss.

“Well—what about you? You have never said.” She watched him—kissing her hand—as though the hand did not belong to her. “Do elves wait, Valandil? You have been so patient with me...”

“Elves do frown upon making love before marriage,” said the elf. “But, if the couple is reasonably discreet...”

“So you are the same as humans,” said Wilawen. “And you have...”

Valandil nodded. Kiss.


“Wilawen!” His tone was gentle, amused. But he did not answer her question.

I was never given the chance,” said Wilawen, quietly. “No one ever wanted me.”

Valandil looked up from her hand in surprise. “The men of Gondor are fools,” he said.

Wilawen smiled. “Unlike elves, who can charm the birds down from the trees—and no doubt do, all the time, in Eryn Carantaur,” she said, “where everything is perfect and everyone is happy...”

“You will love it there, Wilawen.”

“If I come to live there.”

“You will.” He smiled. “I shall make sure of it.”

“Do you want to, Valandil?”

“Live in Eryn Carantaur?”

“Make love. Tonight.”

“Oh, faer vara! Do you want to?”

“I want it to be two years hence, when we are an old married couple, and completely at ease with one another—”

“Wilawen! Are you finally agreeing to marry me?”

She blushed. “I suppose I am.”

“And your father?”

“I will help you persuade him.”

Valandil leaped to his feet and held out both of his hands. “Come, meleth nín!”

“Where?” Wilawen frowned. “I thought you were going to seduce me?”

No, Wilawen,” said Valandil. “I am going to take you up on deck so that we can make our vows under the stars. Then we will come back here,” he kissed her hands, “and we will make love.”


Next morning

“Well, it is about time,” whispered Legolas.

He nodded towards one of the rope lockers, where Valandil and Wilawen sat gazing out across the shimmering water, the woman’s head resting on the elf’s shoulder, a contented smile lighting her face.

Eowyn squeezed Legolas’ hand. “Let us give them some privacy.”

The couple climbed the steps to the aft deck, where Faramir and Berengar were having a lesson in seamanship from Captain Mutallu.

“Don’t screw up your left eye, sir,” the Captain was saying, “or you’ll strain it. Just let it relax, and look through the glass with your right... Yes, like that.”

Berengar swept the spyglass along the horizon. “Oh!” He moved it back a little. “I can see something, Captain. I think—”

“Ship to port!” cried a lookout, from up in the rigging.

Berengar handed Mutallu the glass.

“She’s a three master,” confirmed the Captain, “and she’s fast, like a slaver—or a pirate. Beat to quarters, Master Taru. I want the Early Bird ready to withstand an assault.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Wait!” said Faramir, who was leaning over the gunwale. “I think she may be the Hunter! May I use the glass?” He peered through the misty lenses, examining the ship from stern to stem, until he found the ship’s figurehead, a leaping wolfhound. “Yes," he cried. "It is the Hunter!”

He returned the spyglass to Mutallu and turned to Eowyn, smiling. “Would you mind waking Gwirith, my dear?”

Eowyn smiled back. “Of course not.”


Captain Mutallu signalled for the Hunter to come alongside and invited Captain Oliel aboard.

Faramir greeted his friend cordially. “This is sooner than expected,” he said.

“I could not leave her behind, Faramir. You were right, my friend, I should have spoken up before. But it’s better late than never—and I shall be back in Carhilivren by midday tomorrow.”

“That will not be necessary, Oliel,” said Faramir, smiling. “Come with me.”


Gwirith was waiting in Legolas and Eowyn’s cabin. Faramir left Oliel at the door.

“Go in,” he said, “and tell her what you have just told me.”

Oliel opened the door. “Gwirith—”

“I cannot change, Oliel,”said his wife, before he had had the chance to enter the room. “If you want an innocent young girl, who will be content to do nothing but cook your food and clean your clothes, and climb into your bed at night—”

“I don’t.” Oliel closed the door. “I want you Riya. Why do you think I was coming back for you?” He held out his arms.

Gwirith shook her head. “Just answer me this, Oliel: what would you have done if I had told you that I had seen Abdi outside the Circus—and that I intended to kill him? What would you have done?”

“I have asked myself that a thousand times,” said Oliel, overcoming his wife’s resistance and gathering her into his arms. “And every time, the answer is the same...”


“I would have come with you,” he said, kissing her forehead, “and—may the gods forgive us both—I would have held him down whilst you cut his throat.”


Keret pulled the wooden mûmak from his pocket. “Do you want him back?” he asked.

“Of course not,” said Hentmirë, “he is yours, Keret.

“Oh...” She threw her stout little arms around the boy and hugged him fiercely. “Do not forget to visit us. Legolas and Gimli... Legolas and... and I... I want you to visit...”

“I will.” He hugged her back. “Anyway,” he said, sniffing hard, “I still have my third wish to ask for.”

With a final wobbly smile he climbed down the rope ladder and joined his mother and father in the Hunter’s rowing boat.

“It is so much harder,” said Hentmirë, as she watched the little boat pull away, “to say good bye a second time.”


Hentmirë's new home

The Early Bird reached Pelargir ten days later. Legolas and Faramir hired horses, and carts for the luggage, and a carriage for Gimli and the ladies.

Slowly the friends made their way north east along the Forest trail, watching the birches give way to elms, and the elms give way to oaks, and then, on the morning of the fourth day of travel, the oaks give way to mighty carantaurs.

Hentmirë climbed down from the carriage and picked up a huge red leaf.

“We are almost there, gwendithen,” said Legolas, smiling.

Hentmirë slipped the beautiful leaf inside the cover of her book, for safekeeping.


“Time to wake up,” said Legolas, gently shaking Hentmirë’s shoulder. “We are here.”

Hentmirë rubbed her eyes. The carriage had come to a halt in a broad clearing. To her right stood a large, circular pavilion with an intricately carved roof; to her left, a wooden staircase wound its way up one of the massive tree trunks.

“Do we go up there?” she asked.

Legolas laughed. “You do not need to whisper, gwendithen. Come.”

With Legolas on one side and Eowyn on the other, Hentmirë climbed the spiralling staircase, pausing now and then to catch her breath—“I shall need to be fit!”—and to look up into the Forest canopy, where elegant wooden buildings nestled amongst the branches.

“It is like a fairy tale!” she whispered. “Oh, how Keret will love it!”

At the top of the staircase all three stopped (waiting for Hentmirë to recover from the climb) and gazed along the main walkway, Legolas pointing out buildings of interest—the Council Chamber, the Library, his own chambers, his garden flet. “And this will be your home, gwendithen,” he said, leading her to a single-storey apartment, built around one of the massive carantaur trunks.

Hentmirë looked at the wooden doors, carved in flowing, interwoven curves—Like syrup pouring from a spoon, she thought—with their frosted glass etched with pointed leaves, at the pale green paintwork, and at the white canvas sunshades stretched over the wide windows.

“It is exquisite, Legolas,” she said. “The whole city is exquisite...”

“And our door is just here,” said Eowyn, pointing across the walkway. “So it will not seem so different from your old house.”

Tears of happiness filled Hentmirë’s eyes. “Thank you, she said, softly. “Thank you for letting me come here to live with you.”


And so, to bed...

It had been a long, hard journey back from Mirkwood but, at last, they were home: darkness had fallen and the sky, clear and moonless, shimmered beyond a mesh of silver stars. Legolas, perching on the windowsill, watched with lazy pleasure as Eowyn slipped off her dressing robe and put on her white nightdress, carefully fastening its tiny buttons one by one, then picked up her dark velvet mantle and draped it around her shoulders.

She smiled at him. “All ready.” She held out her hands.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Melmenya?”

“Of course,” she said, “it was my idea.”

She led him from their chambers and up the steps to their garden flet where, in their absence, Lord Caranthir had overseen the building of a canopied bed—to Eowyn’s specifications—with a covering that, on warm nights such as this, could be rolled back to allow its occupants to gaze up at the stars.

“Thank you, meleth nín.”

Legolas slid the mantle from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then he lifted her into his arms, and—in a subtle show of elven strength—carried her effortlessly across the flet.

“Make love to me,” Eowyn whispered, brushing her lips against his ear and making him shiver. “In our own home.”

Legolas settled her on the bed and straddled her. Then, taking his weight on his hands, he lowered himself upon her, letting his hard ceber brush between her thighs.

Eowyn shifted her hips beneath him, and Legolas entered her slowly, making every inch count.

Pedo enethen,” he whispered.

“Legolas.” Her voice was husky with desire.

He pushed himself deeper, arching his back to fill her completely. “Ad...”


Gazing down at her now, he began to thrust, his strokes gradually growing harder, faster, more urgent, his hips grinding, his thick shaft stroking some secret part of her, hidden deep inside her—


Eowyn clawed the bed, her body arching and twisting. “OH!”


Legolas stilled, and cried out her name as though in pain; and Eowyn felt him come, warm and wet inside her.

She stretched out her arms and let him sink into their comfort, and bury his face in the crook of her neck. “We are home, Melmenya,” he whispered. “We are home at last.”


the end


Contents page


Previous chapter: Destiny
Wolfram meets his destiny.

Chapter 14

Navaer, mellon nín. No baid lín galen a glor
‘Farewell, my friend. May your ways be green and golden’.

Gûren ninnatha nanarad as achên len ...
‘My heart shall weep until it sees you again’.
Sílo Anor bo men lín ... ‘May the sun shine on your road’.

Navaer, híril velui. Avo aphado nín, meldis nín ... ‘Farewell, sweet lady. Do not follow me, my (female) friend ’.
Nîr tôl erin baded lîn ... ‘I weep at your going’ (literally, ‘weeping comes on your going’).

Pedo enethen ... ‘Say my name’.
Ad ... ‘Again’.


Rasup gamut ... ‘Farewell’
Tan menu selek lanun naman tak khaz meliku suz yenetu ... ‘May your forge burn bright until our travels cross again’