What in your life are you the most dissatisfied with, and why?
He always leaves.
We may spend a joyous and peaceful summer together, riding the hills around Himring, followng the streams that dance down from the mountainsides. Or it may be a year of battle, he and I fighting side by side, our blades running with orcish blood. But he always leaves.
When the autumn leaves begin to turn as copper as my hair, he becomes restless. Inbetween long weeks of not speaking, we fight, the irresistable force meeting the immovable object, an even match of stubborn pride. He says he loves me, but as he rides away towards Hithlum, my heart is filled with doubt and sadness. Suppose one day he leaves, and does not come back?
In all the ages of Tree or Sun, we never spent even one unbroken year together. He always leaves, and I will remain, a pale ghost of what I was, waiting for next summer.
Whenever that may be.