Thirteen by Dawn Felagund

Wisdom Poem

Finrod does not know everything: Andreth on the pain of mortality and the migration north. Prompt: disappointment, illusion, cycle, south

“The disappointment of mortality was not death,” said Andreth, her scorn scarce concealed.

“It was the cycle, the endless cycle of disappointment—the illusion of new—of kings raised up and then faltered, of bloodshed and war, of cruelty …”

She went silent for a moment. “Some of us heard the wisdom poems; some of us saw the pattern well like blood through a bandage. But it was not we who rose to power, and every turn of the cycle battered us like a boulder tumbling down a hill—

“We turned our backs on the south.

“It made no difference.”