I was afraid to look up at Lanthir, and surprised when I felt a steady hand on my shoulder. Lanthir was looking down at me with gentler eyes.
�I did not learn to shoot overnight, Pady. It took me many months to master this weapon. Your skill will come in time.�
I sighed. I didn�t have months. I needed this skill now. Priscilla was smiling slightly at me and blushing. �I�m only good because I�ve done this before. You�ll get it, Pady. I know you will.�
I was glad for her encouragement, but still embarrassed by my first try. At least Priscilla�s pity at my disappointment had caused her to excuse my trying to force her to stay with the Dolenwaith and she was speaking with me again. Lanthir turned back to Priscilla and asked her to continue practicing. He spent the rest of the time with me, giving me tips and constantly repositioning my hands. I was sick of bows and arrows by the time Lanthir called for our mid-day meal and glad for a respite. We sat down to a repast of Elvish bread, cheese and fruits and for the first time all day, I felt I was doing something I was good at. I was a Hobbit, and I could certainly eat. That skill was second nature to me.
Conversation during our mealtime consisted of the strong voice of Priscilla, prattling on and on about the Shire to Lanthir. As she spoke, I discovered more about the Shire than I had ever known before. Priscilla knew and talked to everyone so she had all the news, all the gossip and all the insight into the workings of our people. Glancing over at Lanthir during her speech, which was constantly interrupted by gulps and sounds of chewing, I had to wonder if he was listening out of politeness or genuine interest. His expression rarely changed; his brow was always creased as in thought, his eyes telling a story of deep contemplation. After we had all had our fill, and Lanthir had apologized to Priscilla for the necessity of moving on and thus the interruption of her stories, I found myself walking quietly with my two companions, Lanthir guiding, Priscilla between us and I taking up the rear.
It was during this time of silent walking that I observed the land we had entered changing gradually with every step. The trees that had been so green at the river became duller and more barren as we traveled on. I knew that Autumn was on its way, but it was still too early for the trees to change into their bare winter forms. In the Shire, even when the trees had dropped their leaves, you could still tell that they were alive underneath the soil, like great beasts which hibernate until the time is ready to show their faces once again. But the trees that we were walking into felt lifeless, truly dead and fading away. I was aware of tall mountains far in the distance ahead of us, covered with these pitiful trees, and mentioned them to Lanthir.
�They are far from us and it is good for us that we will not be venturing into them. There are evil creatures that dwell there. We will walk along their north faces, but we will never have to place our good feet on their soil.� His eyes were narrowed as he spoke, looking at the mountains as enemies he distrusted. I was also glad that our journey did not call us to them. They looked rather foreboding to me.
We stopped once more for a meal, and when Lanthir signaled for our final halt, we were only a mile or two from the foot of the first mountain. Gathering firewood, we readied ourselves for our first night alone in this untamed wilderness. Lanthir was able to start a glowing fire and by the time the sun had sunk low below the horizon, bright flames were dancing off the steady blue eyes of our guide and the gleaming, excited eyes of my Hobbit lass. Sitting around the fire in a sinking darkness, feeling the night swallow us into its grasp, I was comforted when I heard Priscilla speak and begin to question Lanthir. Our conversation reminded me that there were living beings present in this dark world.
�Lanthir, where is your father?�
Looking across the fire at the Elf sitting straight and tall, I wondered why I had not thought of this question myself. I had seen the Lady, but no member of her family had made himself known except Lanthir. Had he died? Despite my earlier frustration at Lanthir�s continual weapon training, I found myself curious and pricked up my ears for his answer.
�My father has dedicated his entire life to the protection of Middle-earth. Ever since the Dark Days he has traveled our world and made it his goal to save it from dire fates which would ravage it without conscience. I have not seen him since I was an infant.� He spoke so matter-of-factly, I could not help but think he was insensitive regarding his father. Yet, something in me quickened, realizing that Lanthir and I had more in common than I had first thought: we were both absent family.
�Don�t you miss him?� I said timidly, quietly.
Lanthir cocked his head, thinking. Then he spoke slowly. �I suppose sometimes I do. But you must understand that Elves live so long we are used to extensive absences from one another. It does not seem long to me since he left us. I am quite young, only fifty-two years old. I will see my father again, of that I am sure. And I have my mother with me. She is my connection to my family, my father.�
I looked down. Of course. Lanthir had the Lady. That was why he wasn�t suffering like I was. For him, family was real and existed because of his mother. Oh, if I had even had but one parent when I was young! Yet, I had no relation to comfort me in my loss.
Lanthir reached to his side and drew out the sword I had seen earlier. �The last time my father came back to the Dolenwaith, he left his sword behind. He gave it to my mother as a gift for me when I was old enough and strong enough to wield it. It is called Dramgeleg, Swift Stroke.� He caressed the blade with his hand and I was awed as I saw the flames reflected off the sword. I saw that it was etched with delicate, intricate markings and pictures, which seemed to be moving in the flickering firelight. �This, more than anything, reminds me that my father is absent my life for the love of Middle-earth. I accept his occupation with honor and pride.�
Priscilla and I said nothing. It was not a moment for speaking. I think we were both entranced with the fierce dignity of Lanthir and the tender story of an Elf�s love for his son and for Middle-earth. In that silent moment was when we heard the first howl.
No one moved when the eerie moaning cut into the night. Priscilla grabbed my hand in hers when it had faded and Lanthir stood up in a flash, his sword held tightly in his grip. My heart was racing, my mind filled with the horrible sound of wailing I had just heard. I had heard a wolf�s howl once in the Shire, a rarity, and it had frightened me. But this howl was utterly different and spoke of something devilish in nature. This yowl chilled me to the bones.