He wore wooden rings that made a soft clinking sound like wind-chimes.

T and his tracker's weapon

None of the Third Age natives seem to have external ears.

                                                                                                                                                    Lost in a city’s-worth of rubble, T and I were forced to rely on each other to survive. We would walk four hours in one direction, only to find it blocked by a fallen building or a once proud pillar. It was almost as if all the death and destruction was delicately placed to block our path and dash our hopes (if T is capable of such an emotion). Daedalus would have been proud.

Frequently we would stop to rest, and I could not prevent myself from staring at him. He was so alien, so strange. I’d been watching his people for months, but I had never been so close to one, nor did I ever expect to be. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so alarmed about it, the D’ni after all, were aliens of a sort, even though I had never met a full-blooded one.

I realise now what a sensitive olfactory system the tracker caste has. I was a fool for ever thinking I could hide from him. It’s entirely possible they smelled me the moment I first stepped foot into the sunlight of the Third Age.

While recovering, I attempted to put down on paper what I could remember T in detail. I look at them now and wonder exactly how accurate they are.

How strange, I keep wondering what T would think were I to show him these…