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No One Home
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Within the cave all was quiet, so much that Tuor found the silence quite unsettling. His nerves began to rise and his attention grew alert as his hands nervously clasped his ax. Carefully he crept in and down through the walkways - the caves extended quite far, and every so often he let out a sharp and soft little whistle, but no answer or response came of any kind. He came to a dark place where the sun couldn't reach, and let out another whistle, then suddenly he heard a shuffling sound. His grip tightened around his ax handle as he stepped forward, when suddenly a deep tapping sound was in his ears and something was brushing against his face. One hand flew up to reach it, but it was gone, and then it was quiet again. He sighed and his shoulders slumped forward in relief. Bats. Just the ordinary little creatures who also made homes out of caves such as his.
Satisfied that no one was home, Tuor walked back out to the cave entrance, and set his things down by the door. Besides the few small critters now squatting in the space no one at all was here, not even a lonely spirit tarrying from going the halls of Mandos. In his mind he knew not to expect anyone to be here, but he still wished very deeply to see them again and his heart had held hope for it anyway. His heart fell, and he hung his head and sat in silence for a long while. He could only hope that they had finally made it safely to the havens far south of here.
Tuor set up his things to make his camp here in his old empty home. Despite the empty quiet of these parts he was comforted at least that after the years of cages and shackles and whips and barks by man and hound alike, he was finally free of the company of his captors. The sun had not set just yet, and he wandered back outside. He strayed back downhill a while, and looked out over the lowlands stretching out far before him as the sun set over them. He thought again of Turgon, and his long held idea of seeking out the elven king for help in retaking the greater region of Hithlum. As the shadows of the bare trees steadily grew longer he gazed at the rolling fields in the pale flaxen color of the winter grass, remembering the words of his foster father Annael regarding the secret Gate of the Noldor. Tuor scanned the landscape, surveying the nooks and cracks and dells of the hills and ridges, wondering if it lay somewhere in reach of his sight. He had not yet forsaken hope for the deliverance of his homelands, and in his heart he resolved to do whatever it took to find the gate, and find the hidden realm of Turgon.
But it was late in the season, and he was very weary after many days in flight from his captors, not to mention the years of hard toil. So there in the caves he rested as his mood recovered and he sought to let the past few years fall behind him into a distant memory. For a long while he would venture out simply to hunt and gather firewood, and made for himself a lonely humble living up in the hills.