[littlemanpoet]

Thorn sat on a seat of moss that covered a fallen tree. The sun was westering and he was staring at the eyes of Owl. Some folk had guessed that his forethought came from the staff itself, that an Owl fëa had been caught and enslaved to his will. Foolishness. Owl's eyes served as a point of focus so that his own fëa could be fee to catch echoes of the Song that Celehan had taught him.

Thorn's teacher had told him that he had wakened beneath the stars long, long ago, and had been taught by one who had come from the West, who called himself the Great Hunter. That one had called the Eldar to come west, and Celehan had, with many others, harkened to the call and journeyed west. But the farther west he had come, the harder the road until the fear of Thangorodrim had stopped him. So Celehan wandered the wilds of Middle Earth, still hearing the Song though not crossing the Great Sea to be with his teacher.

Thorn listened for the Song. Sometimes it sounded unclear. At such times he would look to his own heart to see if he had allowed his steps to wander from the truth and the right. Usually he found some way in which he had, and when he eschewed such ways, found that the Song could again be heard. He could hear it now. Doom was afoot for the Ulfings, his people. Their lords would lead them into evil. It was time to return to his folk and tell them what he knew. He set his face westward, for he would have to pass north of the Ered Luin and come south to meet the Ulfings.