Orctober Instadrabbles by cuarthol

Drowning Place, and The Tooth

watchtower, surf, winter, sea

Icy wind pulled stinging tears from his eyes, so much like those of Helcaraxë it nearly froze Finrod’s resolve.  But winter would pass, spring would come again, hope was not so frail a thing.  He clung to these yet, despite their doom.

Far below, the surf battered the rocky cliffs, sending salty droplets to kiss his face even at this height.  Were it not for the thick bank of clouds he fancied he might even see across to the far shore of Eldamar.

Turning away, he walked back to where the first stones of Barad Nimras waited to be raised.