I live off the land when I am not studying at Orthanc, giving to and calling upon nature in equal amounts. Communicating with the exotic life of Fangorn, helping sick beings in the wild and enjoying the tranquility the wood offers are my favourite pasttimes.

One day I was required upon to use my magic, for some foul beasts of the east found their way onto the green soil where I had kept haven and began to pillage the forest. Eventually, I was drawn into confrontation with them. They were uncompromising and I forced to remove them from the lands by force. This is nearly my only act of aggression, save one which I will not discuss here.

Whilst other Istari would feel obliged to take care of the matters of good and evil, I prefer to live in the neutral. There is no evil in the wood, only the natural cycle of events.

Of course, I do not neglect my study of magic, for it provides me with the power to help anything that should require it. However, I do not study to the detriment of my inner self.

Anyway, I digress. I like to leave the same air of mystery as the nature around me, but seeing the great tales which adorn these pages I feel compelled to write something of more substance.

Once, long ago, I tried the life of Men, those of Gondor specifically. My what an phenomenon they are! Everything designed to be so streamlined yet failing to retain their original purpose! I do not regret my choice, it was merely a learning experience after all, but I fell in love whilst I was working the daily chores that Men seem to abhore (yet follow without questions). Her name was Lindo and she came from the Elven lands. She too was in much the same situation as me, attempting to understand the nature of Men by being part of their system.

It was from our situation that our feelings grew and it was but a year before she asked me to be her Anardil. Men, for all their supposedly stable lives are however fickle creatures. Our town became the scene of nothing short of a civil war. We made the decision to leave, but too late it seems. Whilst we rode out, she was befallen by an arrow from one of the militias. I did not look back, but I have never regained any desire to find out more about the folly that is the life of a Man. I keep one treasured possesion from that, her quinga, her bow that is.