It was in the year 1280 of the Third Age when Thranduil, son of Oropher and king of the Woodland Realm, rode out with his followers to hunt.

The dawned early autumn morning was cold, but the sun, which had been disappeared the last days behind a heavy cloud cover, bit with it's fresh rays through the leaf canopy oft he trees and lighted the forest in a unique way. The mist above the moss-covered ground shimmered more or less and undulated in the slightly moving air, carrying the smell of resin with it, and faded gradually.

The elvenking liked this spectacle. The dew of the morning sharpened his mind. Next to him rode the brothers Glandur and Arandur, two loyal companions. Arandur was the older one and had left the coasts of Lindon with the young Thranduil and whose father, two thousand and seven hundred years ago.

The three elves rode deeper in the forest now, keeping their eyes open for every little motion between the endless rows of straight pines. They looked for deer. Their backs were adorned with large bows of white wood and a quiver, filled with red fletched arrows. Thranduil was unmistakable. He wore a noble-looking silver cloak, with a leaf-shaped brooch and on his pate a crown of autumn blossoms and colourful foliage. His long, golden hair was braided.

The equestrians went apart. The king turned on the well-known paths towards northwest, Glandur followed him till he led his horse further westbound. Arandur rode straight towards north. The procedure was already established.

The elf horse of Thranduil was called Beleg. It was a young and swift stallion. It's hooves thud on the forest ground, while it skilfully swerved around the trees.

Horse and equestrian crossed a clearing and a small stream. "This water will finally flow into the great Forest River", Thranduil thought. He continued on his way. He had already been in this region before, but something had changed. An uncomfortable feeling overcame him. He recognized the silence, not one bird was heard. He steadied his horse and they decelerated. At a trot Beleg nearly noiselessly flit through the trees.

The Ered Mithrin were still in a distance, but Thranduil already had sensed before with concern, that the shadow of the Grey Mountains kept on covering the Greenwood on and on.

The wind rushed through the high treetops and shook down some fir needles. Here, the sunlight commonly infringed more generously in the forest, so much more Saplings began to grow in this place. Those inhibited a large view forwards in the wood. Thranduil reached for his bow. He felt, that something was close by. He nocked an arrow. Was it a deer? Attentively he moved trough the underbrush of branches and coniferous wood. This was the thrill of the hunt… In case of urgency, he had to act immediately.

Behind a tree and between the dark green mosses he just recognised reflexions of a little forest pond, as something moved directly next to him!

The elvenking reacted quickly, turned around and shot. The arrow struck in a trunk. And five centimetres beside it, the pale face of a young woman froze in shock.

Her eyes widened in fear. And even Thranduil's face lost every facial colour. He needed one moment to sum up the situation.

There he was, sitting on his horse, had shot at a being, he determined that she was an elf girl, and had missed it. She stood about three meters away from him, had backed away to the mighty tree trunk and had dropped a bowl of water. She was extraordinarily beautiful, but she partook of some kind of strangeness. She didn't fit the elves of the forests, the tribe of the Nandor. Maybe she came from Imladris, the realm of Elrond?

She wore a light garment, which glinted in a blue colour. Her brown hair was streaked with gold wisps and fell gently into her face. A delicate pearl circlet graced her forehead. Only now Thranduil recognised an injury on her right shoulder. A recently inflicted wound, which saturated her dress in a fresh red, right up to her breast. She had to be treated soon. But he knew, nevertheless, the unusual situation didn't allow any mistakes. He should not be careless.

He alighted from his horse and approached her. In this moment she broke away from her stiffness, turned around the tree and disappeared in the spinney. Shortly afterwards the forest king heard a quiet neigh and a departing clopping.

He jumped on his horse and drove it forward, past the tree, taking up pursuit. They rode towards east. Moments later Thranduil spotted a white horse ahead. It lost way. After some minutes it went into a slow trot and turned hither and yon, apparently directionless. And when the elf caught them, he saw, that the woman, her head bent forward, her hands buried in the mane of the animal, was fallen in a faint.

He reached for the reins of the white horse and sounded his bugle, to call his companions.

Arandur appeared first. The sight that greeted him was not the kind he had expected. Enquiringly he looked to Thranduil. "We will take her with us", the elvenking said. "We will help her and than possibly receive answers." Arandur nodded.

In this moment Glandur arrived, his cheeks reddened by the haste, with whom he had followed the call of the bugle. He carried two slayed rabbits with him. "My lord?", he asked, breathing heavily. His older brother alighted from his horse, approached the white one, whispered something in it's ear and leaped onto it's back. He caught the reins with one hand, the pale body of the young woman with another. Her face, framed by dark hair, appeared as if she merely had been fast asleep. Peaceful.

"We return to the halls!", Thranduil ordered and the squat started on it's way. The faithful horse of Arandur followed them.