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Chapter 2 - Ilúvatar's Song
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The changing of the seasons was upon them. Arda was moving the life in her care from verdant growth to quiet respite. The days were growing short and the air cool as Anor bowed to Ithil, allowing the lengthening nights to grow brighter.
Rúmil tipped his head back and turned his face up to the setting sun, breathing deeply of the crisp, clean air. Middle-earth was preparing for a long deserved rest, but before waning, the blanket covering her would burst into glowing, glorious color, a feast for the eyes and senses as the golden yellows and reds of the earth reached upward to embrace the waking pinks and violets of twilight.
He loved this time of year, and he loved this part of the Wood. It was quiet and peaceful, generally free of the orcs, wargs, and other fell beasts that plagued the northern fences. There were many in the guard who thought this patrol tedious, but Rúmil preferred the distance from the constant chaos of the city and the tense watchfulness of the more active borders.
The warrior began to shift restlessly as his thoughts returned to those who had disturbed his peace. He and his companion had only been on the border for three days before the Edain had appeared. Initially, the group had been much larger but then divided by half when some of their number continued south with a small herd of horses.
The remaining Edain had stayed, and they were now camped on the opposite side of a wide meadow past the hills. Six men in all, the Faradrim worked in teams of two, using small wagons to haul their gear and supplies. They were rough looking men, hardened by sun, wind, and their chosen profession.
Skirting the very edge of the border, they set their snares and traps, and while they made no significant incursions into the Wood or carried no real weapons, the small patrol still watched them closely.
Elves considered this method of hunting distasteful, without honor. The traps were cruel, causing unnecessary pain and suffering. However, it was the senseless waste that the elves found most disturbing. Creatures considered of little or no value, wanted for neither their meat nor pelts, were simply tossed aside, their deaths serving no purpose. To the guardians watching them, it seemed that these Edain felt no connection with Arda at all.
For the Firstborn, all life was intertwined, weaving and pulsing together to form the Song of Ilúvatar. However, these men seemed to hear it not, choosing to ignore its rich harmonies. They listened to only their very small part of the Song, hardening their hearts to the rest. They were completely cut off from the life that surrounded them.
Rúmil and Anendel followed the men whenever they ventured over the border on their daily treks, springing traps and slipping snares set just minutes earlier or freeing and tending to those creatures that had been caught but not yet discovered.
They would practice their skills of stealth, laying or standing but a few yards away, close enough to reach out and touch, or move through the trees above, never seen nor heard.
After a week, they decided to break up the monotony of their little mini-campaigns by leaving small gifts within or near the traps, subtle messages to the Faradrim that it was time move on.
However, the men persisted, especially their leader, who seemed particularly determined. This man troubled Rúmil; he seemed without remorse or pity. More than once, he observed the feredir callously ending the life of an unwanted animal instead of simply setting it free.
These men were not considered a threat to the Golden Wood itself, but their insistence on harrying the local wildlife was growing tiresome. Rúmil was at the point where he felt a more direct approach necessary and that perhaps staring down the shaft of an Elven arrow would be more persuasive.
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~* To Be Continued *~
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Edain = Men
Faradrim – Hunters
Feredir - Hunter
Ilúvatar = God
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