Second Age; year 1716…
‘…I expect highly of you to make your own passage over the Hithaeglir. It is always me that must take the journey to “your forest”! Why must I always be the one to freeze my hair off?’
“Mm…it is good for you; are you not the one part of Imladris’ guard?” Undómion read on in quiet amusement, ignoring a couple of hawks sitting on his head and shoulders.
