I own nothing.
The hands of the invaders are cold and cruel, but the world they are thrown out into is even colder, and has no comparison for cruelty. "Venture towards your home and all you'll find is death," they taunt the two boys, cast out into the snow and the night. "Come back to Menegroth and you'll die on our swords."
Quickly dissolving into the snow-flecked winds, the Kinslayers return to Menegroth, leaving the twin princes of Doriath behind, shivering in a snowdrift on the banks of the Esgalduin. No provisions have they, nor tinder to make a fire, nor even proper clothing for winter, save woolen cloaks. The twin princes, Eluréd and Elurín, are young and small-bodied, but still they know that they will indeed die if they return to Menegroth while the Kinslayers are still there.
"Maybe…" Elurín huddles closer to his twin as he speaks, drawing his cloak close about his shoulders "…maybe Mama and Papa will come looking for us soon." His lips are blue and his teeth chatter, but there is hope in his voice, nonetheless.
Elurín nods, but can't bring himself to hope as his brother does. "Maybe." He casts his eyes towards the forest, deep and dark and cold. "Let's go under the trees," he suggests. "The wind won't be so fierce. It'll… It'll be like a game."
Backs battered by the fierce wind, little soaked feet numb from the snow, the twin princes venture into the forest. For a few moments, they are as the dimly burning embers of a dead fire, but soon, they are swallowed up by the dark.