Furley had found himself walking down the muddy banks of the Hoarwell, trudging as his boots caught and stuck in the mud. His horse, Calista, was protesting furiously despite how he pulled, but they made their way forwards.
On and on he went, trying to get away from the road to somewhere he could recover and replan. The weather was holding for now, but he knew that he was against the clock. He had to get back. God only knows what they'd do if they caught her.
Once again, he heard a twig snap, and he froze as he turned round, raising his fists up in defence as he had left his weapons, and as he turned to face that which has hunted him the length of Eriador, he came across...
An elf. Tall, with long, black hair that hung about his shoulders, and an eerily glowing cloak that seemed to shimmer at the threads, smiling down at him with an amused expression.
"Mae Govannen" he grinned, cheekily. Furley was too stunned to speak, and looked at the elf, jaw agape, until finally he managed to stammer a "g-g-good evening".
"It may not be if you tarry here" he smiled, and turned, looking knowingly into the darkness. Furley peered, and saw nothing, but somewhere, a pair of yellow-stained teeth growled to himself, looking on at the elf and his prey, and slinked back into the shadows, unwilling to take on such a formidable opponent. Only a fool would tangle with an elf.
"What do you mean?"
"You are in the wilds, it doesn't do to tarry here in the dawn these days, never mind in darkness. You must move from this place. Return West over the bridge with due haste. Your time in your own land is not over yet, just like mine isn't here. But that time will come".
"I know. I'm heading back now. I... got a note"
"And you have had your footsteps dogged every step you made East. You cannot run from your life, especially when it comes for you now, within these trees" the elf smiled, still watching a figure, unseen by anything but him in the darkness, slowly making its way back to the road where it would undoubtedly regroup and replan. Furley looked in horror, and cursed his stupidity.
"Your time will come, just like it does for us all. Whilst we go West, perhaps you will find your journey leads East. Or South, whetever your feet choose. But you can't run, and you must leave your past fully behind lest you will be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your days".
"I, who are you? How do you know so much about me?!" he asked, a little stunned.
"I am an elf" he smiled. "And you have travelled through our lands selling your wares across the West. We don't miss things like this. And you talk too much as you travel" the elf grinned, before unbuckling his belt and passing Furley his sword. "When I go West once again, it'll be for the final time, and I won't need this. However, you are in imminent need of protection. Swing it well, with fervour. And I find that if you want to leave your old life behind, you need to go back to the very beginning".
"The very beginning?! What? Why?"
"Follow the fires in your mind, young one, and it'll lead you well. Go now, you haven't much time". With that, the elf bowed, and was gone, vanishing in the shade of the trees.
What had he meant? The fires? The beginning? What did he mean?
And then the realisation hit him, and suddenly he realised he knew where to go. Archet. Trudging his way through the mud once more, he dragged his horse with him, ready to bolt Westwards. And before what, or rather, whomever, for he was certain of that, was stalking in the trees caught up to him.
Lashing the belt around his waist, he attached the sword to him. It hadn't even entered his mind yet that it was elven-made. That moment, however, would hit him like a hammer several hours later when it dawned on him. But our tale has too much haste for that.
