Eryndor: [Watching the sun’s reflection scatter across the water] The sea is gentler tonight. Almost… welcoming.

Calion: Or patient. It knows we will come, but it will let us choose when.

Eryndor: The ship is ready. The smell of their timbers still reminds me of the old forests.

Calion: I can almost believe we walk beneath those boughs again. Almost.

Eryndor: We cannot delay forever. Middle-earth slips from our grasp. The voices, the songs… they are fading.

Calion: Which is why I would hear them once more — even if only the whisper of waves and the wind through these palms. One more night, Eryndor.

Eryndor: [Quietly] Each day we stay makes the leaving harder.

Calion: And each day we leave undone will be one less to regret.

Eryndor: You speak as if the ache is worth keeping.

Calion: It is. Let it remind us we truly belonged here — before the West smooths all edges from our hearts.

Eryndor: [After a pause] One more sunset, then. And when the moon rises tomorrow—

Calion: We will go.

Eryndor: Until then, the sea may wait. And so may we.