The events following a mild argument in the middle of Norwick saw Yngdír once taking on the role of ferryman to the dead. After transferring all the bodies into one wagon he lashed it to his horse, and once again took a rare trip north. These trips always seem to be lonely affairs, glancing back over his shoulder he sees only the closed gates of the town he'd just left, and the rattling dance of bones from beneath the sheets in his wagon.
The view ahead is just as bleak. Miles upon miles of road, the trees on either side threatening to close in and swallow all trace that Men once dwelt there. His thoughts turn to other things. And occasionally nothing at all save for the beating of the hooves of his horse, and the trundle of the wagon's wheels. The thoughts always crept back… the 'good deeds' of Men, or Dwarves, or his allies and friends -- borne of ignorance. Pointless gestures. Meaningless moves that have no ultimate end, even if the reason comes across as sound. When finally he spoke to the bones, as he commonly would along this rare journey, the words came with the sound of an Elven dirge.
"None of us knew why you were down there. My comrades, I fear they have taken what once was yours; greed gives way to courtesy for the dead. Even their own dead. I have spoken the words of Sehanine; what comfort they bring your bones of Man and Dwarf I'll never know. Worry not your spirits either, for the gates of Lord Kelemvor's house draw near."
The wagon wheeled around slowly, a final bend in the road as Yngdír finished his words to the cart full of bones; and as promised, there stood the Shrine to Kelemvor upon the plain. The gates were alerady open when he arrived, and he drove the wagon in with ceremonial dignity.
The cart was left outside, and Yngdír asked a hand to feed and water horse for he intended to enter the shrine and speak with Thander. To the priest he explained what had occurred, and asked humbly for the proper rites to be performed on all three of the bodies. He apologized to the clergymen with all sincerity for the bones probably being mixed up along the journey and directed them to the wagon outside.
A night and a day Yngdír spent at the shrine after that, his time was mostly spent in the recovery cots in the upstairs of the shrine - commonly open to the public. Though in the evening, just a few minutes before he left, he made a point to visit one grave among the many. There were no words for the woman this time, too many years had passed. Evidence was littered around the grave of autumns that had passed, winters and springs. A few browned leaves he wove into an ornament not unlike, but much smaller than a wreathe. Perhaps the only evidence of a visitor to the Druid's grave since she'd been laid there. Without a goodbye or word besides he mounted his horse.
The evening had gone by and a pale moon illuminated sky of thin cloud above. Yngdír glances back over his shoulder and saw the closed gates of the shrine he'd just left, and the dimming way-torches as his unburdened horse trotted quickly away from the place he in sorrow, seldom went. Back to Norwick – where ignorance exists in the guise of good deeds.
