The White Towers

Third Age 3018

Gildor's POV

Our company passed through the uninhabited lands quieter and more careful than ever. The settled areas we crossed by night, though some dared to sing in those parts. Unfamiliar with the songs and silent agreements within the group Raven kept to the margins and the rear. He watched, took his cues from the others, and often disappeared into the forest to return with some addition to dinner.

When we camped, he avidly watched the squirrels. I thought at first he was going to hunt them, but then realized he was looking for their hoarded nuts. If that weren't raven manners at its best, I teased, wondering if he had not taken that name just for his skill in scavenging.

"I never take all they have" Raven returned calmly "I steal part of their supply, yes, but I never raid their caches. And that is what a feathered raven will never give a damn about"

He was in awe of Glinael for some reason, and never came near him. I suspected it was the principle of khai´toh again. Glinael was the only close friend I had who was neither rhevain nor part of my company for the freak factor we seemed to have acquired over the years. Whoever did not fit in with the other companies generally got along fine with our rather motley group. Glinael was also the only one who I would have defined as firmly settled in the old ways. Yet unlike Elrond who generally had things his way and would argue with me for hours if we disagreed, Glinael simply was there. I could talk to him without continuously being asked why this why that. Like Raven he listened. And when he told something, even when he absolutely disagreed with me, he could do so always with a glint of laughter in his eyes. I led this group for the one reason that he had refused to become our leader, and I often wondered why he put up not only with my fancies but with the peculiarities of our assembled silliness. Had not Raven been here, I would have been with the rhevain again long since. Glinael knew, sometimes he asked, but he never argued.

We often sat together, and one morning he said "Why is Raven never with you? You said you were lovers, yet you are never together"

"He will do nothing here he might have to defend himself for" I said, taken at unawares by the question. Glinael seldom was so blunt. He had the amazing gift of tact, and often drove me mad trying to find out one thing by asking another.

"Well, I thought anyone who might manage to get to you would be proud to show off his catch" Glinael grinned insolently "He should be getting his hands on you as often as he can"

"I thought you knew me better than expect anyone could catch me to ´get his hands on me´" I returned. The old game. Glinael only smiled.

"Are you…" he began after a while again, but broke off.

I waited. Let him see how he got out of that again. I watched him instead. He was one of the three of this group who managed to wear real clothes on such a travel. I had given up after the first time we had gone to the Havens. Scouts clothing was fine. But Glinael, he could get a fire going without singeing his wide sleeves. It never failed to amaze me. He kneaded one of his rolled-up sleeves absently "Do you trust him?"

I groaned "Glinael I have heard that question in endless variations. Would I be with him, here, if I did not? What do you want to know?"

He blushed slightly "I know you for…quite a while"

The old game indeed. He was still big brother. And still tried to be tactful. He was worried. For me, this time. I decided to end this quickly "I can change, Glinael. I did, for him. I do"

Glinael nodded, once, and said nothing more in that direction.

Strangely enough it was Narandil who of all the company found a way to draw Raven out of his careful reserve during our travel. One night we rested in a wild piece of forest, and he even managed to talk Raven into hunting with him. The two returned considerably later than the others and brought back a young deer they had already gutted. Narandil was chewing something and had a wickedly amused expression on his face as the two wandered into the camp. Faenross went to meet them and carried the deer back to the camp with Raven. He sniffed at Narandil´s snack "Hm, roast meat. Did you eat the best parts of our dinner out there already?"

Narandil popped the rest of the meat into his mouth quickly and laughed "No. And trust me, you did not want any of that at all"

Raven snickered, but refused to enlighten Faenross what was so funny. I knew the things Narandil defined as amusing from bitter experience. Bespeaking a colony of rats to keep them from being drowned by farmers intending to flood their field was only the tip of the iceberg. The cursed rodents had followed us for three days until Narandil had found a suitable area for a new colony-site.

"Do we have to leave the region in a hurry, Narandil?" I asked suspiciously when the pair sat down beside me "Rats likely to turn up?"

Faenross laughed "Yes, or did you to kill farm-sheep again? I daresay that was brazen!"

"We do not" Narandil returned indignantly "Even I have some brains left, though a few hundred years with you, Faenross, should kill any reason still in existence. You know pretty well that was an accident"

"Oh yes, of course. An accident" I said scathingly "Next time you do something like that we are not going to come to your rescue at all, trust me"

"Ouch. What a hard-hearted announcement. That hurt, Gildor" Narandil laughed after me as I went over to Raven, who crouched at the far edge of the camp, skinning the deer.

"What did you do?" I asked quietly, hunching down beside him "I do not trust him from here to there when he has that look on his face. We cannot afford his pranks in theselands at all"

Raven grinned "Oh. The friend of rats is not above eating mice, that is all"

I had to laugh out loud "You got him to that? Really? I should have known he would like the idea! Hey Narandil! I take it that leaves more for the rest of us as you have already eaten!...That certainly solves the problem of keeping at least one of us fed when we pass the empty plains again" I added under my breath.

"Hold that" Raven shoved two deer legs into my hands and routinely carved meat off the bones, undeterred by the blood. He laid the pieces on the upturned skin and finally set to digging a shallow pit so that head and hooves of the deer would not lie around.

"What are you doing?" I asked when he glanced at the sky and turned the muzzle eastward before covering the pit with dirt and leaves.

"We can't afford traces. And I know you people rather bury things than let them lie in the open"

"Yes. No, I mean that…turning"

"East"

"Yes, east, I see. Why?"

He glanced at me, hesitating with a load of dead leaves in his hands "The hawk flies at dawn. And dawn is east. It is…the old way. What we always do. When we hunt unfurred, we always do this. Only that we leave what we do not eat in the open. Others will eat that, too…I definitely would prefer that than to be rotting in the earth" he added abruptly, casting the leaves down.

"Oh" I said faintly. Somehow this trip that confronted our separate customs so clearly taught me more about him than I had learned travelling with him alone. Here, my company expected me to be their leader, do things their way, but always before, I realized, I had done things Raven's way. Alone, he was in charge of our survival. He did things his way, and I watched, and did the same. If I did not understand, I asked. Usually, he answered. Now, walking two paths at the same time, it was like seeing my tracks for the first time.

I was prevented from asking more when Glinael shouted "Gildor where's the meat? We want to have this cooked before dawn, and I worked damn hard getting this fire going"

"Coming, coming" I grumbled, gathering the filled skin up and carrying it over to him.

A few days later we were close enough to the sea now to hear it at night, to smell it when the wind was right. The final miles were easy going now, as our company had left the settled areas and were once more in deserted lands.

The ground became sandy and the plants were now those of the coast-side. Sour-tasting orange berries clung to grey-green, thorny bushes, and the trees were low, gnarled, and bent away from the sea by the continual wind. The pale green ash-trees grew here from which Silverleaf had taken his name. The white underside of the leaves glittered against the blue sky with every motion of the air, and the trees whispered endlessly. A handful of original members of my company were no longer there. They had gone west already, one by one. I had come here often before, but the last few times had slowly, imperceptibly changed things. Not only in the company's dwindling numbers, or in the reduced number of members, but in my own view of things.

We halted on the final rise on night. The wind blew sharply into our faces and swift clouds rushed past the nearly full moon. The sea glittered in the fitful light, and the slapping of the waves drew together into a continual roar.

I consciously looked into the other direction before turning towards the towers. The high stone-structures were stark white in the clear night, rising high above the gently rolling dunes and the smooth expanse of shore further below.

"We still remember we who dwell in this far land beneath the trees thy starlight on the western seas…"

So we did. So did I. But starlight I had here as well, dimmed or not. No matter how glorious memories of the West were – memories they were. Not even the West was free of change. Nothing would be the same, should I return. Nothing would be the same again, ever. No second chance. Without her, it was worthless to return. Somehow.

For what? To walk the same streets and same forests and only be reminded of what I lost, what neither of us could ever gain again? No. To plead for healing was to ask oblivion. Was to deny all I had become – all I was.

I looked at the towers for distraction. They were spaced evenly. One stood at the front, on the highest rise and closest to the sea. Two stood further back and a little lower, to the left and right of the foremost tower. The left one was used for storage, and was a little out of repair. It was locked. The one holding the stone was not locked of course, and kept in good repair, the fine carvings and murals regularly freed of sand and lichens. The top of the right tower held a fireplace where a light could be kindled at need. But ships seldom came here, and the fire was mostly there to warn occasional passing ships of the rocks in the low waters before the Havens.

Most of the times, the towers were deserted, and the windows dark.

They were all silent as we stood on the hill-top. Glinael shot a look at me, and I shook my head slightly, shrugging, leaving the decision to him. I knew it was tradition to sing the old song now, but this time I found no breath and no heart.

I had not wanted to come here, yet felt also drawn to the place. That Raven had come along had been the only reason to go on this trip, and do it easily. To not be in Imladris I could think of a number of places to go, it did not have to be the Towers. The closer we had drawn to the sea the heavier I felt. I kept thinking I might have been more useful back in Imladris where I could at least have tried to keep track of things and maybe taken some action.

Any action. But then, what action? As long as Elrond had not decided on the Ashi´kha matter I could do nothing.

We were cut off from further action or information while we were travelling.

No one complained about my break of tradition, and we descended towards the towers quietly. The company settled near the foot of the main tower, some going up alone, others in twos or threes. Raven disappeared.

I was glad everyone left me in peace and sat on the low stone wall circling the tower. A similar wall ringed each of the other two towers, rising at the back, towards the dunes, to keep sand from overrunning the tiled spaces around the towers. I stared at the glittering sea for a long while until I finally rose and slowly climbed the long stair to the tower´s top when everyone else had returned.

And there I sat. I never once touched the stone. It sat there dark and gleaming, waiting. Nothing drove me to look into it, nothing called to me. I simply could not raise my hands and waken it. It needed a will to steer it and to see. I had none tonight. Weakness, or fear, I did not know.

So I sat there, staring at the shining globe while the moonlight travelled across its surface and the floor. The breeze came in through the open windows all round the room, and everything smelled of sea. But I thought of Raven. Or rather, my mind wandered as I sat there, pondering everything and nothing. Glinael´s question of a few days ago came back to me, and finally my memory brought me back to that night – the unlucky dream. Raven's following me. When we had first become lovers.

´I´d rather keep him as a friend than to lose him as a lover´ I had said to Glorfindel. I had held on to that for a remarkable time. And Raven had been a good friend. One I had never thought could exist. He still was. Sometimes it seemed too good to be true.

And then, with the stone sitting cold and untouched by the centuries here before me, I remembered that it was all borrowed time.

Things had changed. I had never really belonged to anything that happened, but I had always managed to keep in step. Now, things changed and for the first time I was conscious of changing with them. I changed, and yet I was left behind. Here I sat in the very tower Gil-Galad had built and had no heart to see the one place the entire Eldarin world centred on and seemingly strained to return to. We were going in a wide circle back to all we had left behind. More or less willingly.

That was where Elrond's tolerance of me failed, and with the last great argument I felt I had lost a place I had had all the long years before. Imladris had been a sanctuary I could return to from the wild, the closest to home I had here. When I could no longer stand the wild for a while or in the midst of winter I went there. I had never felt bound to it, though. I had managed to keep my distance from place and people. Now, after a few days which I found relaxing I fled from the bustle of the houses, the voices, the people, and started wandering in the valley, riding out with Faire, going into the plains beyond the Rim. I had friends in Imladris, yes. But it was all so different. They were different. Once I was there, I missed Raven's simple and unquestioning friendship. He accepted me as I was, even as I tried to do the same.

- I think he was better at it.

In Imladris, the standard question was why. Why this, why that, why him, why did you not come back last summer, why don't you go to the Towers this year? Coming to think of that, Raven asked a lot of questions. But he asked how. How did you come there, how did you do it, how did it happened. He seldom inferred intention or questioned my choices – he wanted no justification. To him, it was perfectly acceptable to say I don't know, it just happened. It was acceptable to be swept along. Imladris increasingly forced me into a role I no longer wanted. I was Gildor Inglor´s son there, no matter I had no claim to that title. I wanted no claim to that name, but it followed me. For lack of anything else. I was known for riding in the Last Alliance. But I had done that chiefly because I had got too far into that to want to back out anymore. I had led the rhevain, and I had left it at that. I had not even led them, as was constantly said. I acted as interpreter, as mediator, I rode with their leaders, but not as leader. Somehow, I had stumbled along with Gil-Galad, then with Elrond. And when all was over, I went back to the wild elves. That was one side. Gildor of Rivendell.

But Imladris was small, and memory not necessarily was positive. There was a lot of memory in Imladris. Also of who I was in the other respect. Legally, an outcast. The thing with the waived title. There was the customary bickering in Imladris, too. Intrigue maybe was too harsh, but there were sharp tongues saying the same I was used to hearing since the beginning. Mostly, it was silly things, unimportant things. In the high families there was golden hair, dark, or red, smooth or curled. Not reddish-blonde, slightly curled like mine. So what had happened in that line? It was an old joke, sometimes an old insult, but it survived and I got so tired of it I astonished myself. Raven did not care. Not as my people did. "It's beautiful" he said, fascinated by the colour, and telling me the Ashi´kha would call it skuya, which was an old word now meaning honey. Apart from shin´a´sha that was the first word he taught me in his own language, and the first he explained to me in all the Ashi´kha codes. That was why he held on to pronouncing my name Kil´tor, sometimes. Desert Lion. He was much more flattering in his description than my own people. I had never seen the beast whose name I bore in Ashi´kha. Up north, and then east along the mountains of snow, Raven said were caves which walls were painted to show lions and other creatures that did not live here. It was a strange, sentimental notion to think we could go some day, not north, but far southeast where the desert lions lived. But we held on to it, somehow.

Sometimes I wondered how much of Raven's unquestioning was indifference. But that was stupid. He was all but indifferent. Had he been, we had never become lovers. He would have never followed me. He could not tell me what his prime motivation had been. The wolf's way of making the best of life? Purely selfless action? I don't think either, and it really wasn't important anymore. It had cost him a lot to come after me in the first place. Answering something I had kept hidden and secret as well as I could. In a way, he had thrown everything away that night he had ever held on to, all his integrity. For my sake.

I had been determined not to let things get this far. For both our sakes. We had found a way to be together, accept the other as he was. We should not go further. Conflicts could be settled as we were, because there were differences we did not acknowledge, only accepted. He was wolf, or part wolf, I could not say, did not care about an exact formulation – there was a part of him I could never understand. Or could I? Were we as close as we could get, and to go further would only inevitably break what frail connection we had? Or would it strengthen it? How far could we fully acknowledge and not just take at face value?

I did not want to give myself away, give myself vulnerability when I did not have to. That was one thing. But to my surprise, my concern for Raven was much stronger. I was assured of my strengths and my weaknesses, but not of his. For all his fierceness in fighting, his introvert pride, I knew he was very much defenceless. He had little confidence in himself when he had to maintain it towards others. On his own, he was strong, and self-assured. As wolf, he never doubted himself, his strength, or his limits. The wolf was capable of accurately estimating himself. But not Raven. It had taken long for him to trust me. He would never trust strangers. The people of Imladris frightened him. One question at the wrong time, one mocking remark could go straight through his resolve and his calm. He had set all his trust in his brother, and found it near impossible to set it on someone else now, without Fingal. He would, but only once, maybe. There was no strength in him to take back what he gave once. Everything concerning himself besides pure facts he considered as secrets which were dangerous to reveal. They could be taken, used as weapons, used against him. Unlike me, he would not be able to walk away and turn his back on persons he found he could not cope with. So he gave little or nothing. I knew that since I had met him, since I had touched his mind in fёa-raika and he had nearly killed us both in terror. I had taken nothing, and gradually, his fear of me had turned into trust, and to me he gave some of his secrets, bit by bit. What I had also learned was that the best way to win his trust further was to trade – in his way, return a secret for a secret. What I could tell about me I had no problem telling anymore. Should people make of it what they wished, I cared precious little. Should they tell what they wished, that too touched me very little. As a fact. It might affect my patience and friendliness to them, but not my confidence in myself. To Raven, who had grown up in a reclusive clan with as many members of his race as there were people in Rivendell alone, everything in dealing with others was a matter of personal risk and personal hurt. If he could walk away when he wished, he did not give a damn what others thought of him. It did not touch him, less even that it touched me. But he came to Imladris as a stranger, and could not walk away as the wolf would. He would not leave me, and he was constrained to cope with the world of the valley.

I did not want to be the one to go too far judging by my own ideas and hurt him. What if we found out we had made a mistake? What if we became too close to get along? I could walk on, hurt maybe, but I survived. I always survived. With Raven, I was not so sure. He would set his heart once, and I feared whatever I could give would not be enough, would not be up to that high stake.

I was frightened, too, of that. That he would leave.

And a tiny insistent voice, the voice that had led me back to Bearclaw in the beginning, said you damn well want to go further. And then the decision was left to me, he turned away leaving it to me, everything, and I went to him. We had been fighting the same demons at that moment, in a way. We had to let go of our precious defences, and it was a question of who would do it first. He did. I don't know why. I had gone to him fully conscious that I would have to face what I had carefully ignored for centuries – and I was frightened of it. Since the night the orcs had caught me and Silverleaf barely managed to get me away no one had ever touched me. I had seen to that. A good deal was pride, but more was fear. I had been a fool to get caught, the memory haunted me, and my mind replayed the sheer panic of that night at the most unfitting moments. When I had gone to Raven I had done so with the intention that if we were going to do this, if he was complying with my need, it would not be at his expense. I had not expected him to give that much all at once – himself. If Raven was frightened by his own memories he was prepared to ride roughshod over his fear, and he did. He shamelessly used the wolf and my own desire to get us over that line. And he spared me from facing my fears right then.

It was strange after that first night, the way we were so cautious around each other. That is, I was writhing in discomfort, not Raven. He had followed pack-rule relentlessly and still did afterwards. I was the leader, and he followed. It was a matter of fact for him, but not for me. For him, only the wolf´s concept of dominance and submission existed. His own fear, that of unfurred, he held separate from that. He was perfectly at ease with things as they were. He would never have demanded that I give him what he gave me, never scratched at my defences. In a way, that forced me to acknowledge that piece of the past to myself much sooner with his complete indifference as to who had the passive part than I would ever have done had he confronted me. His unconscious action stung my pride and my sense of fairness and equality. I think I had little pride in other matters. If there was an easy way, I would take it. Honour? I beg pardon… He could be i´tan´rak, the follower, all he wanted in our pack, but not on the sleeping furs. Still, I had to steel myself for a long while until I found the strength and courage to face my ghosts and let him have me.

I had always grumbled at him for being the oyster he was, keeping all his secrets as a dragon sitting his hoard. After that first night, I found out one thing I would never have thought possible he could feel. What I knew of his time with the orcs was what he had told me. He hated them, he killed them, he avenged his brother's death and the humiliation they had caused him personally. He sometimes hated himself for having got himself into that spot in the first place. I could very much sympathize with that notion. But what he had always held as a shield was the cold assessment that his body was his weapon, one he would put the best use. That was how the wolf thought. That was Ashi´kha mentality. So far, he was clear on that. Though I could not think the same, I understood. Maybe a healthy thought, a protection. Something very like what Silverleaf had done. There was a twist in Raven's thinking though, one that turned back on itself without mercy. He would have played the orc´s game to the end for the sake of killing him. If I still wanted him, right. It was my decision and he would rely on that. But he would not take me, he had no right to that. That thought had kept him from taking the first step. I had not wasted a thought on that. I had been frightened of the fact, the memory. He had tested the ground before, gently, tested my reactions. But that night he backed up. I had gone after him, demanded to know why he would not lie with me. He had been crouching by the river then. It seemed trouble always brought us to one river or another. I sat beside him, held him. When he had finally answered, it had been so low I had hardly been able to hear him. I can´t lie with you. I am unclean. I cannot sully your light with my darkness. It had taken me a long moment to see what he meant. Khai´toh, Eldarin haughtiness, classing the world in Calaquendi and Moriquendi.

I had been shocked speechless that he could still think that way. Was it his own idea, because of what Khai´toh meant? Or because it looked as if all my people could say about him were doubtful questions? Did he think I thought that way? Demon-hound, I love you I said after while Is that not enough answer for you?

Talking about defences. It was enough answer, I guess.

And here I sat staring at a blind stone, and suddenly I knew why I could not find heart to touch it. In the beginning, I had thought Raven defenceless. In some things I knew he was. I had been certain of my own strength. Because he was i´tan´rak, never challenged either his or my notion. Now, I was not so sure. I could not face the idea of being without Raven. I needed him as he needed me. I trusted him.

Valinor had seldom looked like a sanctuary to me. I did not want to go back, though often my heart cheated me, telling me I missed the West. To look into the stone now would be to acknowledge the dwindling time. Bring the choice nearer. The decision. I doubted I would have a choice. I felt haunted, cheated out of something I had taken centuries to find.

The moon was low over the sea when I descended from the topmost room. There was a grass-grown and wind-sheltered dell above the yard where most of the company had gathered in loose groups, talking or singing quietly. The night was not cold, and there was no need for more elaborate shelter.

I hesitated. Should I join the others? I was not hungry, and not in the mood for company. Company, at least, that would discuss news and prospects of the West, look at old memories and recount the old tales. I did not wish to talk, sing or remember at all. Not with this feeling of betrayal. The stone bred despair rather than raise hope or give relief. At least for me. And I had not even touched it. I glanced around for Raven. Narandil the Impossible and Faenross were absent as well at the moment, and I decided that I was not being too indulgent in seeking out my own companion now.

Narandil and Faenross, though, I thought grimly, would take ship together if they ever left. Sometimes I was not so sure about that. There was something fey about them. They were the sort who might dare the notion of Fading, or who could board a grey ship with the courage to challenge the Valar. They had both been born in Middle-earth. Maybe blissful ignorance gave them that courage.

Deserted places always intrigued the wolf. They drew Raven because they were sanctuary. I made my way across the sandy path to the storage tower and sure enough Raven was there, perching on the crumbling wall and looking at the sea as well. I halted a moment, a little puzzled. He wore one of my gowns, the only black one I had. It was a bit large for him, and he had rolled the sleeves up. He felt encumbered in things even I considered plain. Had he been forced to wear Ginael´s robes he probably would have strangled himself before managing to get them over his head at all. With the Ashi´kha tattoos invisible, and his hair combed and unbound he looked startlingly like…one of my people. It took me a moment to phrase that. I forgot the fact that he was indeed half Elda more readily than that he was also a wolf. And he never bothered to remind me. Indeed, I don't think it meant anything to him. He considered himself wholly Ashi´kha.

He shifted to make room for me when he heard me approach.

"That was fast" he said after a while of sitting in silence "If I was of your people I would ask why that is, now"

I smiled wryly, but answered nevertheless "I don't exactly have much to…say. Or see"

"There is…no one?"

I shrugged "There could be…is. But this time…"

"But this time you had no mind to face family"

"How do you know that?"

"Oh" Raven smiled weakly "Assumptions"

"And of what kind, if I may ask?"

"You told me, in a way. None else of your or Silmarussё´s family left Valinor. So they would still be there. I assume, that is"

"Hm"

"Have you…ever spoken to your…father afterwards? After you left, I mean?"

The question hit me unawares. Finally I said "Once. Long ago"

"What is it like…the West?"

I glanced at Raven, but he avoided my eyes.

"This would be your chance to see for yourself"

"No" he got up abruptly, startled "I don't think so"

He leant on the wall and looked at the sea once more. The low moon cast a strait of silvery light onto the waves. It would be gone soon, and the night would grow darker.

"Why not?"

"I – I am dark elven, Gildor"

"So are many others of the company"

Raven just shook his head. He did not sit down again, and stood clutching the stones of the crumbling wall.

"Walk with me?" I asked after a while of more silence "I don't want to go back to the rest already"

The shoreline was completely deserted at this time. It was ebb now, and there were hardly any waves. The receding sea had bared a wide stretch of hard, moist sand which reached ahead into seeming infinity. It was easier to walk there than to plod through the dry, loose sand near the dunes. We meandered along the uneven margin of washed-ashore objects for a while. Raven took my hand and tugged me forward into a run which he quickly turned into a race. I was tired and felt weary, but for some reason I followed.

"Don't you dare turning wolf now" I panted after a while as we jumped a series of small potholes "That would not be fair at all"

Raven laughed and slowed down again. We trotted along a wide, deep pool that had been left by the receding waves.

"It's great, you know, going with a pack along the shore. Miles and miles where you don't have to watch your feet and just run flat out"

"I suppose so" I halted and looked back the way we had come. It was quite a distance.

Raven stood behind me and leaned against my back, still panting. He followed my glance. The moonlight was gone now. Though it never got really dark at the shore, night-sight merited the effort to use it if one wanted to avoid the scattered pools which could be surprisingly deep sometimes.

Suddenly I truly wished I could be wolf myself. The way Raven simply changed and shook off the trouble of a complicated elven universe. The way he had the wolf's body with all its power and equipment for the wild at his command. The notion jumped on me like a mountain-lion and refused to let go its hold on my neck.

"Why don't you, now?" I asked, trying to hide my unexpected emotional uproar. I had changed, yes, I wanted to change – but how far was I going? How far would I be allowed to go?

Raven's closeness was making me think of other things than wolves or stones "Tonight nobody would see you, and you don't have to be careful"

"It's no fun without you" Raven stayed where he was, closing the space between us and leaving little to be guessed of his intention. He never questioned the way things had turned, the way he had made things turn. For the wolf, it simply happened when the time was right, he did not think about the when, why or what manner.

"I can't believe the wolf is only concerned with fun" I said "Hunting seems quite exhausting business"

"But he is, mostly. The wolf" Raven sounded thoughtful "We tend to make the best of things. And hunting - is fun"

"Even if you make no prey at all? How many times do you fail in killing what you hunt? How do you transfer wolf-way to this – our life?" I turned to watch Raven's face. He did not let me go, but looked away into the distance.

"See each day as a prey" he replied after a moment "Then it matters less if things go wrong"

I wondered if that reasoning went astray somewhere, but flames, I didn't really care! I wanted to think like a wolf, and I would not break that effort off right here. I turned our walk in the direction up the beach, towards the dunes, and Raven fell into step beside me.

The winding, deep-cut grooves between the dunes hid us from view, but did nothing to cut off the sound of the sea. A piece of horizon, where sea and sky met in a line of dark haze, was visible through a dent in the sand-hill in front of us.

"Why?" I asked later once more, conscious of my insistent Eldarin whys "Why do you not want to look?"

I felt him shrug uncomfortably "To see it would make it more real than I want it to be" he said quietly.

"But it is there, the west"

"I know. As a fact. And I don't want to… – Gildor, to really see it would take even more power away from the Hawk than just the knowing could ever do"

"You used to nag your brother for stories of the west"

Raven winced "I did…Please" he added suddenly "You forget the stones, the west, at least for a while"

"Do you forget the Hawk?" I returned "Even for a while?"

Raven lay very still for a moment "Yes. If I would not it…things would look much darker. Much more – hopeless…You can see the West" he said again after a pause "The Hawk – it is not like you can see him. Only khai´noch…only the shaman can see him, really. So we have to…go to him if we want more…security. We did not consider us as Elves before. We still don't. Not in that respect. The Hawk makes no difference between the oshar he guides…But there are…we have so many things in common – maybe, we are like…like khai´toh, a little. That is why it puzzles us so much. The West, that is"

"And being Hurondil´s son does not make things easier, I assume?" I ventured after a while.

Raven sighed. I could feel his breath on my back "No"

"What about – Khai´la? What about your mother?"

"Oh" Raven laughed softly "She has no reason to bother"

"If that is supposed to enlighten me, it doesn't"

"She can be – very perfectly wolf" Raven said slowly "And I had no reason to start really thinking about the West or Mandos…if there is any relevance for us before – well – before Fingal was killed. Before that, I was simply curious…"

"You have looked in all places you could find – except that you can't…get clearness about Mandos. And you were pretty close to finding out about both Mandos and the Hawk yourself"

Raven gave a short laugh "But it matters not now. I don't want it to matter now"

"What about a late night swim?" he asked abruptly, stretching.

In the sea. If that wasn't stretching my luck. I glanced at the line of dark, low waves down the beach speculatively.

"Yes" I said after a moment "Why not"

Raven snickered.

Why again.

11