Shallow was her breathing as the swarthy southener marched on farther through the North Downs. The air was chilly here, and she did not like it. She cursed; She hated the cold, and she hated extreme weather. But as she gazed upon the threshold, she felt a cold chill run down her spine. The thousands of white dead trees, littered lifelessly upon a barren green grass that could not feel lush, swayed erronously in the Moonlight of Ithil. She could hear screeching and wailing from bats, and there was howling from wolves somewhere: The perfect cemetary setting. She gagged in revolt at the sickening sight before her, the land so chilled and laid waste. The huntress could not even camoflauge herself here without at least giving away some form of herself. But she was a brave huntress. And in the far distance, she could see those glorious ruins, teeming with adventure and waiting to be explored. The men of Bree called it "Deadman's Dike" and warned her against going there, but she wanted to learn more about the lands of the North. Dunland was now a far myth for her. Galtrev and other settlements seemed but a dream to her. She shook off the memory of her defeat and instead gazed on ahead. She smirked to herself, thinking of all the interesting trinkets that might await her within the ruins. She looked at her crudely drawn map of the Downs; The Dunlendings had no written language, so she did not know how to write at all. Putting it back to her bag, she began to sprint forth in a steady pace, keeping up with herself as she let her feet take her to her destination; The ruins.
But as soon as she went she lurched abruptly and whipped her head sharply about; She could feel whisperings. Whisperings of torment and ill-deeds. Whisperings of anguish and sorrow. A cold presence dullened her senses, and chill took over her body.
She jumped as a deathly freezing touch crawled on her skin and shuddered. What was this place? She began rummaging underneath her leather and grasped the necklace of the Tûrch-gwirod tightly, Preaching she chanted, but nothing happened. It was eeriely silent, except for the call of crows and her own voice which carried over the entire field with the wind. She walked forward slowly, holding the boar-insignia aloft, and kept her gaze steadily affixed to it with great determination: She could feel the presence of evil spirits within this place. She would not let them seek a moment of distraction to take advantage of. She had to leave this place. The evil presence only grew ever stronger with each step, and if she went on, she would be consumed by madness of the whisperings which were magnifying themselves in her ear. She had to turn back--
Pain and anguish came next. She felt herself falling into a void of nothingness. All she could sense was that she was losing control of her body, and there was hideous laughter somewhere within her mind as she struggled to regain control of herself. Her vision dullened, her senses dimmed. Soon, she felt herself locked within a cage in her mind.
"Good." Something whispered in her ear, "Now, obey."
And so she did.
