[Anarya SilverBranch]

Anarya floated behind her closed eyelids in an unconscious sea of gray, rippling with shades of white and black that would burst at times. She then felt herself being lifted up and carried. For a moment she thought she had died and was being brought up to the halls of Mandos, but then she felt the cool drip of water upon her forehead. The left side of her face seemed to burn with spelt blood.

She awoke at the water's touch and forced her eyelids open. The vivid forest light stung her eyes ferociously, but she managed to keep them open. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a dark figure leaning next to her in the light. Finally, the colors of Mirkwood attuned to her eyes and she could see clearly. She could see now the face of an elf, the same elf she had seen inspecting her arrows. She knew it was he because he did not have the usual fair hair of the Mirkwood elves. His hair was raven black with streaks of navy blue that went down to his shoulders and his eyes were the color of rain clouds, ready to burst. They seemed to hold the pain, and sorrow of a thousand years.

"Who are you?" She asked warily. Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her.

"I am Rûdhchamion," He said.

Anarya was not quite sure what to make of the stranger. She remembered the Men of the east from earlier that week. Maybe he was one of them,

"You are not from Mirkwood," She said looking at him suspiciously.

The elf that called himself Rûdhchamion chortled a laugh, "Your very apprehensive for one so young," He replied. She now realized that he was holding a flask of water in his hands.

Anarya took it thankfully and drank deeply for she found herself very thirsty.

"Rûdhchamion." She said looking at the elf with peaked curiosity, "I have never heard of anyone near the wood named that,"

He shrugged and stood holding his torn cloak and a knife in his hands.

"That is because I am not from Mirkwood." He answered putting them away in a pack that lay near the trunk of a tree.

Anarya struggled to sit up. He head spun as she tried to stand. She suddenly lost her balance and fell back down to the soil.

"You should really sit for a while," Rûdhchamion said sitting by her, "You had quite a nasty fall,"

"I guessed that," She said blandly, rubbing her throbbing head, "What are you doing in Mirkwood anyway?"

"I'm just passing through-"

"You mean trespassing through," She interrupted, "Do you know what happens to trespassers in Mirkwood? We recently had some men from the east come through and they are soon to be executed from what I hear, what do you think of that?"

"I think nothing of it," He answered standing again. He said that he didn't but Anarya could not help, but feel that he did think quite much of it.

"What is your name?" He asked looking up at a chipmunk that sat chattering at them from a
branch high above.

"Anarya," She replied feeling of the tightly bound bandage. Her wound had stopped bleeding. She then remembered her arrows that he held in his possession, "How did you come by my arrows?" She asked.

"Your arrows?" He said looking down at her.

"Yes, the red feathered ones. How did you get them? I have not sold them to anyone out of Mirkwood."

"You made them?"

Anarya shrugged a yes.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"244 years old, but I'm almost 245," She said looking up. Rûdhchamion's grinned slightly. She knew a comment of her age would come soon so she quickly added before anything else was said,"How old are you?"

"Around 2,500 years,"

Anarya felt her cheeks grow red with embarrassment for being so young. 2,500 years. Would she ever be able to reach that age? She already counted every day of each year, waiting for it to be over and she to be another year older. She so wanted to grow up…