"I do not doubt," muttered Fáinu, "that soon there will be a time of doom. I have seen strange things, in my sleep." Cree's eyes flashed as she looked at him. The elf was staring out of the window once again and his voice trailed into a whispered song.
Oh ye, who dwell in Aman blessed,
Shall these eyes see those trees?
Oh Land over the sea, far in the west
Golden is your early morning breeze!
Where shall I find rest on this shore?
Can we pay for our wrong with deeds?
With heart and death in bloody war?
Nay, for deep within me are black seeds
That ever stains this wretched form
From dawn till dusk every day I wait
Like onto Manwe's mighty war storm
I go soon to a deep and bounded fate.
And now I say, "where shall I find rest?"
Not even in there in blessed Aman,
Land far removed in the uttermost west.
His voice trailed and faded, until Cree was no longer sure if he had indeed spoken any words at all. For his mouth seemed to move, yet sound came not from him that she could hear, and she was unnerved.
|