Beneath the gleaming stars, the elf kneels by the river, his keen eyes ever watchful of the gloom beyond the distant shore. Cupping his hands, he dips them into the sweet waters, bringing the draught to his lips. The muscles above his jaw tighten as his ears prick up… but it is only the sound of the breeze stirring a leaf or two.
He had feared hearing the hooves of the dread Rider, but no phantoms haunt the gloaming or block the beauty of the silver stars. Still, he would hasten back to his kindred by the Waters of Awakening.
***
"And indeed the most ancient songs of the Elves, of which echoes are remembered still in the West, tell of the shadow-shapes that walked in the hills above Cuiviénen, or would pass suddenly over the stars; and of the dark Rider upon his wild horse that pursued those that had wandered to take them and devour them." – Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor, The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien, p. 49-50