Near the Blue Mountains, in the end of summer.

The hooves of the war-horse kicked up large patches of turf from the moist ground of the forest as she rode by, uncaring of the track she was leaving in the lush green grass of the slopes. She steered the horse with a speed caused by urgency, never leaving her course.
The season was ending; already the branches of the nearby forest were dripping with mist and the air had taken on a chill in the mornings, cool air rolling in from the sea.

The fog thickened toward the east, and she knew she was nearing the river. Carefully steering down the slopes littered with the dead leaves and humus of the untamed forest, she finally reached the riverbank. Here, in the dell that formed the river-valley, the fog suddenly stopped as if it had been cut by a knife, hovering in the trees and sky around the water but never daring to approach it.
She glid off the horse, landing heavily in armoured boots. For a while she searched, before evidently reaching a conclusion and leading the horse up the bank a little, wading in the stream to ease its journey on the littered beaches.
Presently they came to a wider landing, protected by cliffs on either side. Here the trampled mud spoke a clearer language, unmistakable for anyone happening upon it: a battle had happened. She did not have to search far before finding the corpses, dragged into the bushes by who knew which predators stalking the forest. Orcs and Dwarves alike, they must have been dead for several weeks.
She surveyed them impassively, her face not betraying emotion. For a while she stood and looked upon the scene, imprinting it in her mind so she would not miss any sign later, after having walked upon it.

What happened then would have surprised her companions of last week's journey.
The Elf, who had met her Dwarf allies with stoic silence at best, and open hostility in comments to her fellow Elves, knelt down and dug a shallow grave for the fallen Dwarves. She then found their Shields and lay them down to rest on them, handling the rotting corpses with a reverence that she had not shown to anyone alive in a long time. Finally she covered the graves with large stones from the river lest digging paws disturbed their rest.
After standing in silence for a moment, she turned back towards the river.
She nodded to herself as she found a trail of crushed grass and blood off to one side, as if something heavy had been dragged into the river there. So the Naugrim had spoken truth, after all.
Slowly and methodically she began to remove her armour, stacking the pieces onto her chest place and then wrapping them in a large piece of oiled cloth from her horse's saddlebags. She bound the armour to her horse's back, re-tying the swordbelt to fit tighter around her hips when she was finished.
Then she waded out into the river.

Her horse whinnied and started to follow as the elf's body started to drift away slowly downstream...