It was late afternoon. Mithadan stood on the shore watching the sails of the west-bound ship slowly sink below the horizon. The Barrow-Wight stood next to him gingerly nursing a truly awe-inspiring hangover.
"Well there goes a good chunk of our membership," said the Wight. "Knew I should have given in to my instincts and abducted them."
Mithadan scowled, then looked up at the sun. "We have a big problem, BW," he said.
"Don't worry Mith," replied the Wight. We'll get some new members. And I'm sure they'll enjoy the Uttermost West."
"No. They won't, said Mithadan. "Elven ships departing for the Straight Road always leave at dusk, not at high noon. Where ever that ship is heading it isn't the West."
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Beleriand, Beleriand,
the borders of the Elven-land.
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