Thousands of trees, burning.
Branches splintering, falling.
The gentle rain of leaves turning into a horrid snow of ashes.
Light, breaking through the treetops, turning into a red gloaming.
Green underwoods crumbling, fading in the blaze.
Trees, tall trees, old like the breath of time, burning like torches.
The fire is growing, roaring. Higher and higher it gets.
The trees are falling down, shattered by the storm of flames.
Soon, fires will consume whole Arda...
he uttered this name, as he suddenly woke up.
He felt a burning sensation on his face.
Instinctively, he had grabbed his warhammer.
He leaned the back of his head against the bark, and let go of the weapon.
"You fool" he thought. "Letting yourself become confused by those damn dreams."
Ráolor looked up.
The Malinornë he was leaning at, was tall. Taller than most trees of Eriador or Rhovanion.
He had slept on the ground, but he knew that some had climbed the ropes and had rested on the Telain.
He did not trust a Talan.
Looking up, he saw the rope moving slightly.
He would never climb that thing.
Ráolor was pretty sure about that.
A few moments later, an elf, clad in brown and green, descended gracefully.
He looked at the sculptor; his eyes rested upon the necklace, showing the Star of Fëanor.
Then, with a frown, he went over to his friend.
Ráolor wasn't overly surprised.
The Galadhrim had no reason to like a Fëanorian.
In fact, they had reason enough to cast him out of their realm.
Him and Makanare.
Still, they had not done so, and he did not know why.
The sculptor shrugged.
In the end, the journey had ended.
After many days of hardship, the company had finally arrived at the Golden Wood.
"You look ready for a climb!"
Makanárë made a face at Ráolor.
"Has Annúngil been giving you ideas?"
Makanárë was not overly fond of trees and climbing - just as the sculptor.
But Annunghil, Ráolor's brother-in-arms, looked innocent.
"We can take safety measures. Additional ropes, for example!" he suggested.
In the meanwhile, an elf, clad in deep blue, had approached the company.
His bearing was formal, yet friendly and calm. Of truly herculean physique, he quickly drew attention of those assembled under the Telain.
"I am Alcartano Macilenca, emissary of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, in their name I bid you welcome."
He bowed his head curtly.
"We trust to find you rested after your long journey and offer you housing, provision and the protection of the Golden Wood, be your stay short or long.
Free reign to come and go within the Golden Wood is granted you and all rights and privileges as kin are bestowed upon you.
We ask in return only that you aid us, your kin in anyway you are able to, be it in matters of craft, lore, war and ought else for the greater good of the Galadhrim."
The sculptor had not expected such a friendly greeting and such a generous offer.
But looking closer, it seemed that this emissary belonged to the Noldor himself.
Could that be the reason?
"That is more than we could have expected, Alcartano. We are, indeed, thankful for your help, and for speaking on our behalf."
Ráolor raised an eyebrow. Apparently, his brother-in-arms knew this emissary.
"You are welcome old friend" said Alcartano.
"What has the Lord and Lady bid you do, friend? Will you guide us further into the woods?"
"I am to take you by way of the path behind, to the homesteads provided old friend... Flet life is not for all, so the lady and lord have provided housing for your entire company" answered the emissary.
The sculptor glanced at Maltariel, who was standing next to him.
"So, that will be our new guide?" he said in a low voice.
Speaking softly, she answered:
"So it seems - perhaps you will be lucky, and this one will let you keep your feet on the ground!"
Indeed, the news were good, and Ráolor's face brightened.
"We shall set off shortly, please bring your belongings.. I shall await you here" said Alcartano.
The path they took was gentle and even.
The forest was illuminated by a golden morning light, and the mighty Malinornë were rustling.