As you may have noticed...
The entries are getting shorter. This is because Fingon is now in Angamando (Angband in Quenya), and he has less time to write unless he wants to get captured by orcs. But he's still giving us the insight on his quest, so stay tuned!
(FA 5; February 18)
Orcs are smarter than I gave credit for. I am currently squatting behind a giant rock, watching the cursed creatures sit around and speak in their unnatural, ugly language. Earlier, I had accidently kicked a pebble down the steep path that I had run up. Even though they managed to pursue me into their own land (which I grudgingly admit was a good move on their part), their hearing was the equivalent of a rock's. If they could hear as well as a butterfly, then they would have caught me by now. That's exactly how loud I was.
I can still see Maedhros from here, and he is purposely avoiding his gaze so the orcs do not look to him to find me.
Either that, or he's unconscious.
On the subject of Angamando's climate, I must say; I will never go here for vacation. I don't know how the orcs bear it. Instead of risking my sense of taste and inhaling through my nose, I quietly breathe through my mouth. The taste of dust is a bit prominent, but I think I'll get used to it.
As my father used to say, "If an orc can do it, then you most definitely can."
...I know I should not be thinking of this right now, but what happened next was me, getting yelled at for replying, "Rolling in horse dung?"
I'm surprised that I still have my quill, but there is no ink. The thing I am using to write is a piece of chalkish-like red rock.
Why am I even bothering to keep a journal again?
Fingon