It was the long, silent hour just before dawn. In a forest grove of Chetwood, where she came to welcome the new day and golden Anor, the Sun, with music of her song and with dance, golden-haired elven maiden noted the silence with puzzlement. How different these forests were from her green homeland... Over the centuries, she had seen many oaks grow from acorn to ruinous age, but this place seemed less wild, more tame, and she could not feel that aura of mystery in it that filled Mirkwood. Has it been the Elves who have adapted to their forest or did their presence change it? Who knows. Even the trees looked different here. So is the life of local people.
How strange they seemed to her at the first meeting! She had strayed into this world of humans, and her senses reeled from the shock. She didn't always understand them, but was fascinated by them. They were so lively, their emotions raw and untamed. And yet she also felt a connection with them. Now she understood why the Elves named them "Children of Eru" too. The People of the Stars not speak that lightly; but they proclaim that they are like siblings, in a kinship far closer than that which binds together all other creatures of Arda.
The hours spent in their company seemed so rich to her. Noble Aellwenn, with the glow of maternal love in her eyes and her son, young Ristiinna with her sweet nature and kind heart, Odelina with a soul fiery as her beautiful hair... And He, the Ranger of the North with eyes as grey as a clear evening in which she saw the pure spirit of the lost Númenor. 'We, Elves know that all solutions come with time' the elleth thought 'And the time is eternal for us. But they are diffrent from me. Because they are humans, they life will end'.
She shook her head to dismiss intrusive thoughts, then looked around and frowned. At this hour, the larks should have been singing their morning prayers to the Sun... She put away her lute and took her bow from her shoulder. There was something wrong in the morning air, an intangible aura so strong it was almost like a scent. Linglorel knew well the smell of blood. She hurried toward the scent, and in a moment she stood over the scattered remains of some of the forest's most gentle creatures.
Through eyes bright with unshed tears, she made out the bodies of a doe and her newborn fawn. By the look of things, they had died slowly. The hides were marked with many small, malicious wounds. But this was not the doing of an animal, of that Linglorel was certain. No animal in the forest would kill like that, except for food. Whoever had done this thing had killed for the sheer joy of it!
Suddenly Linglorel knew what name to call that scent that hung in the forest air like dark mist. It was something she had never encountered, but she recognized it for what it was: Evil walked among the trees. The Elf turned away from the sad site, her blue eyes scanning the trampled, blood-soaked grass. She was the daughter of the forest. She will track down whoever had done this!
