[Imladris]

Maethor

“The little rat must have been spying on us,” Maethor said almost good naturedly as he swung himself upon Nair’s back as they trotted to where Lespheria was waiting. A trace of worry shadowed his face, however, as he realized the imminent danger they could be in from Naiore. If the elf knew where they were…his thoughts trailed off as Amandur described what they had found and expressed his own fears upon the subject.

The Last Bridge was near and they soon trotted over it, the horse’s hooves ringing upon the stone. The moss grew plentifully in the the small ravines of the stones, and some were slimy from the spray of the River Mitheithel that rushed mournfully under the three arches that spanned the broad river. As they cantered over the bridge, Maethor smiled and his spirits lifted: they were nearing Imladris, the place he would eternally call his home. Sadness took him, though, when he thought of the reason of their journey there: to warn the elves that Naiore made her way there.

They entered the Trollshaws and Maethor stared about him with growing discomfort. Beech trees towered above them and the leaves of winter’s past laid in drifts against the trunks of the trees. A stillness haunted the land: not a bird sang, not a breath of wind summoned the living leaves to dance to his merry tune.

Through the many long years of living in Imladris, Maethor was well acquainted with the story of Bilbo Baggin’s trolls. The young ranger shuddered at the memory, and fervently hoped the no torog would come their way. They had enough to deal with without the nuisance of trolls.

Lespheria reigned her mount quickly and sat erect. “Naiore is near,” she whispered.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:16 PM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]