The sound of rushing waters filled Lothíriel's ears. A flash of light momentarily blinded her. When she opened her eyes again, she stood on a barren cliff with Calacondo just as the moon set. Far below them stood a solitary figure, cloaked in grey.
Calacondo led Lothíriel down the cliff towards the person. When they reached the bottom, he nudged her forward. Looking behind her at Calacondo for reassurance, Lothíriel found herself alone with this stranger.
The stranger approached and removed the hood. Her face was as beautiful as the sun after a spring shower. Her glossy locks were drawn away from her face, revealing pointed ears.
Awed, Lothíriel gazed down at the sand and curtsied. Cool fingers raised her head.
The elf asked her native tongue, "What is your name, young one?"
Responding in the same language, she responded, "Lothíriel, fair lady."
"Call me Mithrellas," smiled the elf, "for I am no lady. Only a lowly handmaiden of the Lady Nimrodel. You speak in my tongue, and your eyes show great understanding for your age. And you are a young human. Only those one with elvish blood display wisdom that can only gained by experience at such a young age. How came that?"
On hearing the elf's name, awe fell upon Lothíriel. Before her stood her ancestress! On hearing Mithrellas' question, Lothíriel carefully answered, "One of my ancestors was an elf."
The elf regarded Lothíriel carefully. Finally, she said, "You speak truth, yet you hold something back. I ask of you for the full truth, for it is rare for humans and elves to mingle bloodlines."
Looking boldly into Mithrellas' face, she responded, "It is not my place for me to inform you. However, I can promise that you shall find out in time."
"Strange words, child," Mithrellas murmured. She turned away when the sea churned uneasily. As the Horses of the Sea sprung away, Mithrellas disappeared in the growing light as the outline of Calacondo appeared.
Blinking in surprise, Lothíriel glanced around her. Pasturelands, bathed in the afternoon sun, surrounded her. Not so very far away, smoke rose from the chimney tops of a small village. Round about her, mountains formed a semi-circle about her. An inviting, pine forest finished up the circle. A tall hill rose up beside her. On the top sat a stone structure. A clear stream gurgled as it flowed down the hillside. Wondering where the brook began, Lothíriel began to climb up the steep hill. Gradually, she came to a spring, nestled beside the strange stone establishment. After a refreshing drink after her endeavor, Lothíriel heard a merry voice singing from the inside the building. Rounding a corner, Lothíriel found a curiously wrought, wooden door. It stood open. Inside, a young lady stood watering pink flowers from a pitcher-like object. The sun poured through a winder, setting her hair aflame.
Looking up, the lady met the inquisitive eyes that gazed at her. She straightened, set her watering pot down, and said warmly, "Good afternoon. I have not seen you in these parts before. What is your name?" Beside her, a large beast with a mass of golden fur wreathing its catlike face rose.
"Lothíriel, and what might be yours?" said Lothíriel. "And what is the name of the creature beside you?"
"Maria," she replied merrily. "Maria Merryweather. I am the mistress of the lands you see her, but not of this hill or yonder forest. This here is my dear friend, Wrolf. He is a lion. How did you find this valley?"
"I am not sure, but it seems Calacondo brought me here."
"Calacondo? Who is he?"
"A white horse with silver hooves and a horn."
Maria Merryweather gasped. Eyes shining, she interrupted, "The Little White Horse! You have seen him? By your appearance, who knows where you come from, but what does that matter? I did not know he reveals himself to people not of my time."
Lothíriel smiled and said, "Neither did I, but perhaps he shall bring us together again." She liked the bubbling character of this Maria Merryweather.
Next thing she knew, Lothíriel found herself in a forest at a crossroads. One was lightly worn. The other was a broad path with deep ruts. This lightly-trod road was heavily shaded by the trees in such a way that little light shone through the canopy. The more Lothíriel gazed at the road less traveled, the more she sensed a white glimmer. Her brain opted for the worn road, but a feeling of discomfort settled in her when she took a step towards that path. Disregarding the whispers of the worn out path, Lothíriel dashed in the opposite direction. Even though leery voices seemed to shout at her, Lothíriel did not regret her decision. Rather, she felt a light growing around her and leading her. She came to an open clearing. There, Calacondo waited for her.
"Sometimes, it is best for me to remain silent," began the unicorn in a deep, soothing voice, "but now is the time for me to speak. What caused you to choose the shady path, and not the other?"
Lothíriel answered, "I saw your light from afar, Calacondo. I am safer with you than anything else. But why did you bring me to Mithrellas, my ancestress, and to that copper-haired maiden?"
"To show you that you are neither the first, nor the last, to know me," said Calacondo. "As long as there is light and life, someone shall believe in me. You are not alone in your trust."
"Then surely the Dark Lord shall not prevail," mused Lothíriel. "In my time, though, he might, but not in the end."
The unicorn nickered, which was about as close to a chuckle a unicorn can get. He then said, "Whatever the result of your current times may be, you shall find out. But remember this, wherever you are, I am close by."
Suddenly Lothíriel found herself standing in the empty hallway. Calacondo's parting words rang inside her, filling her with a warmth and security. Lothíriel made her way to the Houses of Healing. The healers and all who encountered marveled at her peaceful countenance and gentle smile. They wondered how she could be so calm when a wrathful storm approached.