Skeletor & Sindarin
Sindarin
Have you ever looked into how the old tongues describe a shadow—some say it’s a fragment of the soul, others call it a veil of secrets—perhaps we could compare those meanings?
Skeletor
I’ve dabbled in that, and shadows feel like a fragment of the soul and a curtain of secrets at once. Let’s pull apart those old words and see where they overlap or diverge.
Sindarin
So the term “nár” in the early texts literally means “shadow” but also carries the sense of a hidden part of the self; then there’s “súlin”, often rendered as a veil, but it’s also a protective curtain that guards secrets from prying eyes. If you trace both, you’ll find that they share a root in the idea of an unseen boundary—one that separates the known from the unknown, the living soul from the quiet hush of night. In other words, both are thin curtains, one of soul, one of secret, and they overlap when we consider that a shadow, in a deep sense, is a piece of oneself left in the dark. But where they diverge is that “nár” leans toward the inner, while “súlin” leans toward the outer, a mystery held by the world. That’s the seam where they part, yet they are still bound by the same quiet hush.
Skeletor
That’s a fascinating split. I can feel the line where the inner self bleeds into the outer world—like a curtain that protects both yourself and the world. It’s a quiet hinge that keeps the soul’s shadow from spilling into the realm of secrets, and vice versa. The depth of that divide is where the real power lies.
Sindarin
Indeed, the hinge of that divide whispers a quiet power, a reminder that even the darkest shadow knows when it should fold into the realm of secrets and return to its own quiet place.
Skeletor
I hear that whisper, the hush of a shadow folding back, as if it’s a secret its own. In the quiet moments between, that power hums, waiting for the right darkness to stir.