[Orual]

Anson breathed deeply of the cool, crisp, late-fall air that blew off of the mountains. The cross had been easier than he had hoped, with hardly a rock out of place, much less another avalanche. The horses were well-rested and well-fed, and the company in excellent spirits. Their food store was running a little low, and they had to ration carefully, but it did not affect the general happiness of the companions. They had found the ainereg. Their quest was over.

Anson grinned. "Good thing we left the raft tied to this side of the river," he said. "I don't think I'd be up to building another one."

Comments such as "No argument here!" or "You said it" rang through the group. Good spirits they may have had, but enough rest they had not. They would be glad to get back to Eriador, and they spoke about it much; their plans, where they thought the ainereg would be most useful, who in their family would be healed, everything. But all talk stopped when they reached the Glanduin.

Anson took a few hesitant steps forward, speechless. "It was right here," he said, his voice weak. There was no raft.

The stake was still in the ground, as well as the frayed end of the rope that had tied it to the raft. But there was no raft. There was no raft.