Only a year passed since that day. The day was bright and early and all around the soft patter of the night's rain that had clung to the leaves falling to the ground filled the air, mingled with the chirping of birds. Anariel sat on the ground outside their small hut, making a chain of flowers as one of the ladies of Thranduil's court had taught her. Today, she and her father would go, for the first time, to the grave of her mother, Waelith.

Tithrandil held Anariel's hand the whole of the way there, his heart in turmoil.

How would he tell his daughter that her mother lay in the cold earth beneath their feet?

How would he explain to her what happened concerning her birth?

Anariel skipped beside her father, her small chain of woodland flowers swinging in her hands. She looked around her taking in the sounds of the breeze through the branches, listening for the calls of birds, or even of the trees themselves. She looked up at her father and saw the saddened and worried expression on his face. She wondered why her father wore white and blue with a silver circlet this day, and why she too was dressed as they would be as if it were the Festival of Butterflies. Tithrandil looked down and her and tenderly squeezed her hand and tried to giver her a reassuring smile. When he raised his head again, what was a small attempt at a smile faded into sorrow. Silent tears streaked down his face. He gently pushed Anariel to the stone statue before them. The statue was of a bare-headed woman with long, un-plaited hair. She was dressed in a long gown with fitted sleeves and a cloak, her arms open as if to give a traveler that passed by a warm embrace. In the clearing with the statue grew simbelmyn in great abundance as if someone had tended a garden of them.

"Look, Father! A pretty stone lady!" Anariel said. Tithrandil smiled weakly.

"Who is she, Father?" she asked, seeing her father's tears.

"Read the stone." he said softly.

Anariel knelt down on the ground and wiped away the dirt from the writing. She read it out loud

"Here lies Waelith, a healer of Rohan. ' My child is born. The curse of my line is broken.'"

"You are her child, Anariel. This is your mother." Tithrandil said at last. He could no longer hold back his tears. He fell to his knees and silently cried. Anariel turned to her father and held him. A gentle breeze again filled the air, this time, warmer than the last; warm with the promise of a good summer.

On that breeze, Anariel could hear a voice.

A woman's voice.

Anariel.

Anariel looked around to see who was calling her. She let go of her father and moved closer to the statue and heard the voice again, and gentle call.

Anariel.

She had heard stories from the other elven children of the court about the souls of the race of men; how they would stay on earth until they had accomplished some business that was left unfinished. She was not afraid of this soul that she heard on the wind. Anariel moved closer to the stone and hugged the part that was the stone woman just above the pedestal as best she could.

"Mother." she whispered.

Suddenly, she felt a warmth around her, as if someone was embracing her. She turned to see a woman with fair skin and long black hair, her gown was simple and white, an exact copy of the one the statue was wearing. Her dark brown eyes looked into Anariel's, and she smiled warmly. Anariel offered her small chain of flowers to her. The woman, who Anariel knew now was her mother, Waelith, took the flowers and placed them about her neck. She knelt down on the ground in front of her daughter and kissed her forehead. Anariel closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw nothing, but heard her mother's voice on the air.

I love you, my daughter. I will be with you always.

Tithrandil, his heart aching with longing, looked toward the likeness of his wife to see Anariel looking up at it from where she stood, her head tilted to one side, as if listening. She turned to her father and leaned against the stone.

"Father, Mother says not to be sad. And she says she loves you."

After a few moments of silence in shock, staring alternately between his daughter and the stone figure of his wife, Tithrandil heard the same voice on the wind that Anariel had, alone, earlier heard.

I love you Tithrandil, my dove.

Tears of joy fell from his eyes as he rose from his place on the ground. He took Anariel's hand and they turned to walk back to their home.

Around the neck of the statue, the chain of flowers swayed gently in the warming breeze.