Ithildin scanned the eastern shore. It was not more than a league wide from where she stood, but the current was swift and strong. The afternoon sunlight ebbed low to her right, the North, a fiery golden ball dipped in silver water. The air was cool and a light breeze fanned the trees behind her. A new moon edged its way over the sky, patiently awaiting the descent of the sun before making its appearance. Somewhere off in the distance, a bird chirped, but the evening drew near and soon it stopped.
Many weeks had passed since she had fled Isengard. For a long time, she wandered north and in her heart was a sick feeling. She felt cold and exposed, not knowing that this was how one felt when being sought after by the Eye of Sauron. But time could be an ally in some ways and the feeling began to pass after many weeks as news of the Ring-bearer came to Sauron and Saruman concentrated his energies on the destruction of Isengard. Nonetheless, Ithildin was much wiser than she had been when she set foot out of Mindon Enedh, and she was all the better for it.
Now, she watched the shore across the Great Anduin, pondering a way to get across. Some thought had crossed her mind lately and ever it whispered the same thing: Cross the river. Having trusted that voice to save her life in Isengard, Ithildin did not question it. The problem, of course, was getting across. Anduin flowed swift and it would be impossible to swim across. She would have to build a boat, but how, for she was not skilled in the ways of boats. Ithildin decided, finally, that she was too weary to make a proper decision. She would rest and decide tomorrow.
Ithildin awoke feeling refreshed. Yes, the decision to sleep had been a good one. It seemed that as she had slept, she had discovered a way, in her dreams, to build a strong raft. So she arose and went away from the shore, into the forest behind her in search of the pile of fallen timber that had appeared in her dream. After ten minutes, she came across it: it lay in a dell some 200 feet away from the shore. The wood was strong; perhaps hewed from fallen oak trees. Ithildin lifted up a few logs and was surprised at how light they were.
She brought them back to the shore and laid them upon the rocks. They were about five feet in length, and would bound nicely with strong creeper. Carefully, she placed stones upon them so that they would not roll away, and off she went in search of anything that was similar to rope. At the foot of a low summit, she came upon a vast acre of fallen vines. They were no longer green and no life flowed through then, yet strong they remained in texture, and Ithildin could not tear at them with stone. She pulled together as much as she could carry and, along with the sharpest stones she could find, brought them to where the logs lay.
Then, she began the tiresome task of binding the logs together. She worked late into the day, barely stopping for food and rest. At last, the raft was completed, and a paddle was fashioned from an extra log. Ithildin tested it upon the western shore, rowing 3 leagues, before returning to where she had stood. The raft was all right. Gathering her pack, she surveyed the land on the western shore one last time before stepping on her small, flat boat. It was not difficult rowing to the other side, for though the current was swift, the water was shallow. After about half an hour, she reached the other side. There, she disassembled her raft and buried the creeper in the ground, hoping the earth would turn it into rich soil. The logs, she placed by the shore, knowing the river would carry them away.
When the task was done, she hoisted her pack and continued her way up north and east. The land was barren and plain, and hardly any vegetation grew on this side of the river. Yet, still her heart continued to urge her on and as if there was some secret party awaiting her that only she did not know of.