[GK]The Last of Our Days

"I lassi lantëa menen,

Síra ná nin vantë.

Hantal le, Annalënen,

An-marë nórë.

An sí lúmë nin leliën,

I Yávië Isil ná tiënyassë.

Ñustan i misto, ar nwalma tanen,

Ar ninna menë..."

The forest stood silent, save for the sighing of the wind through ancient boughs. Echoed the notes from a lyre, mingling with the soft chant of an elfin maiden. Between the swaying trees, where dappled moonlight fell, the shadows pulsed in time with the lament, while leaves rustled as if the great Ents themselves were humming along. At the grove's heart, a small campfire flickered against the gathering dark, dying, crackling. For the brief moment, all mortal utterances and celestial melody wove together in enchanted harmony.

And then, with a soft cough, everything ended, and all was dissolved into the night.

There remained only the sound of a knife drawing from its sheath. Kiroranke examined its edge with a satisfied grunt, and sliced into the roasted venison. He tossed a piece to the eagerly waiting halfling, and then turned, casting a glance at the figure holding the lyra, who had fell silent and lost in thought.

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