Lockdown Instadrabbles by Idrils Scribe

dust, brighter, untouchable, world

Dust whirls up beneath Elrond’s feet as he surveys the devastation. Weeks have passed since the floodwave, and the mud has long dried in the summer heat. The sun sinks to the western horizon looking no different now that the world is made round. Eärendil’s star sails high above the sorrows of Middle-earth, untouchable, and at first Elrond cannot help but feel abandoned a second time. He is a man grown, the king’s herald, but tears blur his vision and his breath hitches. 

Then he sees. The last Silmaril shines brighter, on what is now the western edge of the world.