From the journal of Nilûma Nardûnegâda

I am Lûma Nardûnegâda. I'm ten years old, and I have black hair and dark brown eyes, like most everyone I know does. Even though I've never looked any different, I've always felt a bit out of place here in Haradwaith. It's not that I don't have friends, I do, plenty of them. Both of my parents are alive, even though my Da often goes off to battle, and we don't always know that he'll come back. Fortune's been kind to us so far, though. I'm happy here, honestly, I am. But something has just always felt...not right. Today, I got the sense that I don't really belong. Da says I'm weak, and I know he's right, but I can't stop feeling that something's wrong, something's amiss, that I don't fit in and never will...

Lûma picked up the stone, wrapped in grass and tied with string, and tossed it into the air. She watched as her friend, Daurlong, caught it, leaping into the air to snatch it from its path.

"Fine catch!" she called. Daurlong beamed. Lûma liked Daurlong, she always had. He'd been her friend since she was very small. He had no doubts about his place here in Haradwaith, he was the son of the village leader, and he took his responsibilities as such very seriously. He was to be a warrior someday, and he was learning so now. There was nothing he wanted more than to march to battle at his father's side, and slay the enemy with the fierce skill of the Haradrim. Lûma admired him for that. She considered Daurlong the person she had always wanted to be, but never expected to become. There was something in her that seemed a bit more timid, not so brash and lofty as the others. Lûma was quite ashamed of this. She was of Haradrim blood, not some weak child of the north. She had always promised herself that she'd live up to that, but she didn't quite know where to start.

"My turn!" she called, and readied herself as Daurlong flung the stone into the air. She caught it just before it hit the ground, and stumbled as she did so, falling to her knees as she tripped over an uneven patch on the ground. Daurlong was at her side in an instant, but Lûma was already up, hurrying towards a group of the other village boys and girls who were all peering at an object in front of them. "What is it?" she asked, pushing her way through the crowd. "What's there?"

She came through, and saw a small object on the ground. It took her a moment to identify it as a bird, obviously dying, but not yet having breathed its last. It let out a faint 'Pheep' as one of the children tossed a small pebble at it.

"Don't!" Lûma protested, pushing the girl who had thrown it. "Why?"

"Why not?" the girl replied, and tossed another.

"Stop!" Lûma pushed her harder. "It's not right."

"Lûma, it's just a bird." Daurlong said, catching her by the arms. "Don't start a fight over it. It's going to die anyway."

"That doesn't matter!" Lûma protested, wriggling free. One of the other children lifted a stick over his head. Lûma looked away as he brought it down on the bird, and she twisted away, running towards her home as fast as her legs would carry her. Tears came to her eyes, blurring her sight as she walked, and she sat down hard on the doorstep when she reached her house. She cried softly, until her mother came out of the door, and looked down at her.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. Lûma explained, and her mother sighed.

"That's all? I thought you were hurt. Come eat your dinner."

"But mam, they killed it..." Lûma protested, standing up and following her mother indoors.

"Things die. It's the way of life. You will learn to live with it. I hope you shall, or you shall be no daughter of mine." Her mother prodded her towards the wash basin. Lûma forced the frown off of her face as her father and three brothers entered from the side door. They had been hunting, she could tell, for though they had washed, she could see the faint stain of blood on their hands. She took her seat at the table, and remained silent, as she usually did.

Mam's right. It was only a bird. But all I know is that I'm not as strong as she seems to want me to be. And what scares me the most is that I'm not sure I even really want to. I know that death is supposed to send some sort of satisfaction to my heart, that's what they've told me, the enemy's death is our glory, but I don't love death, I can't. I've tried. Whatever powers be, they know I've tried. I think it was today when I realized that what I've been trying to be isn't something I want to become. I don't know what to do. I want to tell Daurlong, I think he'd understand. At least, I know he's the only one who might. Even if he is supposed to grow up and be just like his father. Even if he does want to. I'm so confused. I don't know what to do, and I don't even know where to look to find out. Writing isn't helping, though, and if Mam sees the light of the candle, she'll be in here sooner than I can blow it out. Good night, Journal.