[Feanor of the Peredhil]

A dream. The little girl had fallen deep into dreams of dark water and the filth of swamps, of the oozing creatures of the darkest moist spots under roots after rain, and the sounds of gossiping creatures throttled by fog which settles into the rising gaseous masses of the ominously still liquid shadows. She dreamed of the kinds of water which wish to be land, and which through the depths of time, patiently, will become so, taking living things into treacherous wet sands, drowning them beneath sentient roots, letting their bones give the solidity the muds and meres lack. She dreamed of still waters that build structures upon the skeletons of others, which, full of nitrous, seem to glow in the night, and which seem to whisper threats and lullabies as things slither and hiss inside.

She heard a nightingale, and a hawk, and trembled in her sleep as the song of the former was cut in two by the shriek of the latter.

She dreamed she was walking barefoot, and she was shivering, but she wasn't cold. She felt the mud squish between her toes and felt the eyes of black squirrels and rats fasten themselves upon her, and she wondered if they could see through the fog and the gases of their home.

She called out through the fog. "Mama?"

She heard an answering voice, as though from far above her, but above her she could see only more fog and the blue black silhouettes of broken trees. "Not your mother, my child, and not even hers, but so much farther through time. Why do you seek us, and why do you look here, surrounded by putrid fumes and ill wishes for the living, where the only love is twisted and rank, where those two who would become one can only do so to the detriment of the weaker? You walk in a parasitic land in search of what, my daughter?"

The mud Indil stood in felt cold and grainy on her bare feet, and when she looked down, she saw that it had risen to her ankles.

"Where are you?" she asked the voice of Mithrellas.

"I am always with you, little Eledhwen. Inside you. Are you afraid?"

"No." she answered, trying to lift her feet from the mud and feeling herself sinking lower in response to every motion.

A crow soared through the thick air and landed near her, hopping toward her, eyes sharp. Something limbless moved behind her, and she heard a crack in the wood of the trees. The mud had reached above her knees, and she was frozen, and she closed her eyes in terror. "Yes," she responded, crying, her voice shaking. "Yes. I am afraid. Please. Please don't let them get me!"

The voice was silent for a moment and Indil felt as though many of the shadows of the swamp were lifting. The dark ravenous eyes seemed to blink and lose focus. Indil slipped further, lower, and her breath came faster, and she trembled harder. Mithrellas spoke now quickly, firmly. "Wake up, Eledhwen. Cast this filthy darkness from you. Let it burden you no more! Again, I say, Indil, open your eyes and see the sky."

Indil woke suddenly, gasping, coughing as the cold mountain air filled her chest. She opened her eyes and gasped; her view of the sky was distorted by the face of Tharonwë.

"What did you dream?" he demanded, and she shook, laying upon cold stone. "What did you see, little girl, and why could I not see it as well? What have you seen and heard and hidden from me?"