Beren stumbled, breathless, as a thunderclap shook the trees, the wind screaming, rain lashing against his face—and then ceasing, as suddenly as it had begun. In the distance he thought he heard giggling, as though children were playing. And music, wild and breathless, for dancing—or enchantment. He tried to find its source, but always it was just out of reach. Perhaps at last his long wanderings had driven him mad.
He sank to the mossy ground beside the starlit river (though it was day) and closed his eyes. He woke to twilight, and someone singing, sweeter than nightingales.