A little brown rabbit leapt among the dense foliage at the edge of Fangorn forest. The light of early dawn streamed through the thick trees, which concealed almost everything except for the dull sheen of the smooth pebbles by the small trickling brook. As a result, the rabbit was practically invisible too all but a lone man who watched it from the thickets. His very eyes seemed to pierce the dimness surrounding him. In his rough weather-beaten hands he lovingly held a bow, probably of Elven craftsmanship, with a sharp lead tipped arrow readily notched. Despite this, the animal remained blissfully unaware of his presence as it scurried amongst the vegetation. After carefully following its movements for a while, he held the bow firmly with the arrow's tip pointing at the rabbit. It stayed where it was, munching the wet grass and continuing to search for more. Perfect. The strange man skillfully loosed the arrow. It swiftly left the bow and sliced through the air toward the small mammal. And it hit its mark with such surety that the rabbit just flopped submissively to its side, as if submitting to the will of the huntsman. In a flash, he had already retrieved his arrow and was examining the day's catch. The creature was but a little runt, barely out of its mother's den. But it had to do, he hadn't much time to reach Rivendell. The great Elven lord, Elrond, had no liking for tardiness or latecomers.
After his meagre meal, the ranger packed up his small assortment of belongings and scanned the skies. The rising sun cast rays on his dark waves, which fell to his shoulders. He was a handsome man, regal of bearing, and he seemed to dominate his surroundings wherever he went. In those settings, he looked like a great king from Gondor of old. And indeed he was fated to be one. Or so the Grey wizard had said. He chuckled at the very idea. After all, he was but a lowly ranger, doomed to wander Middle Earth and to sleep under the stars until he faded away from memory. Although he was the only heir of Isildur, Gondor was a dead city to him, only to be placed in the hands of one steward after another. Sometimes, he supposed that even Gandalf made wild presumptions about some things. The cry of a lone raven brought his thoughts back to the edge of Fangorn Forest. He realized that he had been tarrying for a moment too long. Elrond would not be pleased at his latecoming. Furious with himself for allowing precious time to slip past him, he rode his stallion toward Rivendell. King of Gondor indeed! All these vain prophecies were certainly clouding his senses!