[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Éomeléo marched onwards, still bemused by last night's events (or non-events, as it were). Why had that odd Arnorian girl refused to talk with him? He certainly hadn't done anything to upset her, unless (he thought) being in the presence of handsome men upset her. Éomeléo chuckled to himself. Yes, I'm afraid this is true; but please don't hold it against him, for vanity is encouraged among the noble class.

Regardless, on he went, thinking less and less about Valeseka and more and more about the great forest of Mirkwood, which he was fast approaching. It looked very dark and not too friendly. He reached it in the late afternoon and, after a brief rest, dived into the unknown. He had barely walked ten minutes under the great trees and already he felt suffocated and unwanted. His eyes became twitchy and he was flinching at the slightest sound.

As the Sun descended, Éomeléo noticed a difference in the forest up ahead. It looked very hazy and grey, and as he approached the source of this change, he saw that it was being caused by water. Clearly, there had been some flooding in these parts. There wouldn't be a problem, though: unless Mirkwood hosted a phantom canyon, this water wouldn't be deep at all, and anyone should be able to walk through it.

He strode on towards the water, but stopped short in terror. Something was there.

At first he thought it was a ghost. It was a big, grey, floating thing so this guess was pretty logical if you think about it. However, even from his vantage point several yards away, Éomeléo could hear a horrid buzzing sound emanating from the spectre. Rubbing his eyes, he realised that what he was seeing was a swarm of mosquitoes.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!" he wailed. Éomeléo hated mosquitoes. In fact, he hated all manner of bees, boogs and buzzing, bumbling beasts of the air. He hopped from one foot to the other, terrified by the prospect of being eaten alive by this forest-evil.

Still, he knew that sacrifices would have to be made in order to win this gold; and the less the sacrifice if the cleverer the solution! The flooding had not covered a great area: it was probably only about forty feet 'til the blackness of the trees on the other side of the slimy lagoon. So, without giving himself time to get even more scared, Éomeléo whipped off his cloak, wrapped it around his head, and ran.

He ran like the wind!

Splash! and into the water he went. Crash! and he felt the heavy blows of the mosquitoe-kings, presiding over their stagnant domain. It was sickening: blind to the world, every touch accentuated tenfold, and the mosquitoes covering his clothed form so completely. But he escaped the water, and slowly, slowly the mosquitoes lost interest in this blue intruder. Still, he kept running.

Unfortunately, he collided with a very strong tree.

Lying dazed on the ground, still with his cloak over his head, Éomeléo had left the bugs behind him. Picking himself up and wandering deeper into Mirkwood, he finally lifted his cloak from his face, and saw the great forest looking blacker and even more threatening. Mosquitoe-free, though.