[littlemanpoet]

He walks among the mountains, high above their home. He holds in his hand a tatter of her garment, which he had found hanging on a branch; torn, as if she were in too great a hurry, and could not or would not pay it mind to go back and retrieve it. Chased? Chasing another, so focused on whom she followed that she cared not to retrieve the fragment? He finds one shoe caught in a cut of rock standing up from the ground. This tells no more than the tatter. He comes to a cold, shallow lake, before which is cast off, the other shoe. She has waded or swam across to the fir tree lined far side. He follows, his clothes wet to his chest by the time he reaches the far shore. Through the trees that grow close about. He comes to a stone wall, a cliff, perhaps, for it is not made by men. There is a way through, narrow as the width of a human, or elf, walking, and it is closed overhead. He passes through, and stops. Before his feet is a gorge, and the path is just two feet wide, following the gorge to either side. To his left is an Elf, his eyes are slits, and his mouth is gritted in ill will. He knows this Elf, not by name, but by mien.

"Look down, human!"

He drops to the ground, convinced that if he walked up to the edge, the Elf would push him. He slides up to the edge and peers over the edge. Hundreds of feet below lies a body. It is she.

"No!" He raises his head, his eyes blurred with sudden tears; the Elf's features are unclear. "You pushed her over!"

"Fool. This is a dream. Have it so if you wish, but now you know her end. You deserve to know what you have done to her by winning her heart, human. You killed her."

He wept.

There was a crash. "Raefindan!" The voice was familiar to him, but he did not care. He couldn't believe that he had killed her, but his heart believed it, even if he could tell himself otherwise. His love had died. Just like the other time.

"Mithrellas!" 0h Angela!