Turumor

The pressure within the air lessens, and the path turns into a road, getting broader and quite flat.

Soon, the elves catch sight of high walls and guarded gates.

She is clad in green and black, with silver hair, holding a long war-bow.

Upon seeing her, Ráolor sighs. "Oh no. Not her."

"We should move."

Turumor nocks an arrow.

Rustling noise.

Ráolor, walking at the rear, turns around.

"What was that?"

The air is thick. Tall are the trees, but frail and sickly. Their branches reach high, but a smothering darkness has almost wholly prevailed over the very life itself.

The company of elves is traveling in several small groups, trying to stay low-profile, moving by stealth through the forest.

Turumor leading the company of elves through a forest full of peril. Leaving Echad Sirion, they make for Ost Galadh.

Shortly after their arrival upon Echad Sirion, the elves seek the counsel of a scout of the Malledhrim named Falasgon.

They discuss the further steps of their journey, and decide to reach Ost Galadh, an elven stronghold at the heart of Mirkwood.

Bustling activity.

Supplies and military equipment being unloaded.

The crossing has run smoothly.

The boats make a creaking sound upon touching the soil.

They have arrived at the other side, and the memory of Lórien's light mingles with the shadows of Mirkwood.