[Arien]

Ceros watched as Airelómë made he way of into the forest. He did not think that someone should go with him, he was an able fighter and he would no doubt comprehend the thing that Ihwesta and Arië had heard now three of four times. As he watched he felt as tap on his shoulder, he turned around and was greeted by Reynion. He was holding a branch up to him.

“I hate to interrupt, but there’s something I think that you should see.” He drew Ceros aside and showed him the marks of an axe on the branch. “There were several more that were cut, or rather, hacked, in such a manner, and the trees were defaced as well. I don’t like this, Ceros. I don’t like this at all. I had thought that Greenwood would be safe from this sort of thing for a very long time. And now, it looks like that time is over.” Ceros took the branch from him and Reynion withdrew back into a shadow. Ceros examined it of several minuets, tracing a hand over the marks. The cuts were made by axes he could see that clearly enough, but who the axes belonged to he was not skilled enough to say.

“Ihwesta! Arië!” he summoned them over to his side. He showed them the branch and told them of his thoughts.

“Well you are right, these are axe marks…” said Arië taking the branch from Ceros.

“But they are too uneven to be crafted by our kind or even the Dwarves, maybe even men…” Ihwesta now too traced her hand across the branch.

“If it is none of them……what is it?” sighed Ceros, “ It can not be hobbits they would not dare venture this far, and surely the animals and birds do not make these weapons!” The three stood exasperated with the guessing. “We will leave this until tomorrow morn, now let us rest and eat.” The three dispersed around the small cap which was now formed. Ceros sat himself down upon an arrangement of large boulders, her leaned against them and looked up into the sky. Night had fallen now and the stars danced in the night sky. And so he softly sang a song her had composed, it was quiet so none of the others could hear

One tone is mute within the starry singing,
The unison fulfilled, complete before;
One chord within the music sounds no more,
And from the stir of flames forever winging
The pinions of our sister, motionless
In pits of indefinable duress,
Are fallen beyond all recovery
By exultation of the flying dance,
Or rhythms holding as with sleep or trance
The maze of stars that only death may free-—
Flung through the void's expanse.

When he had finished he continued to gaze up into the sky. It had been some time now and he had heard no sign of Airelómë’s return. He lifted his head and looked around the camp, no he had not returned.

He called out, “Airelómë, has he returned yet?” He was greeted by the shaking of heads.

“We have seen or heard no sign of him,” whispered Eruwen who was close by. Ceros worried, Airelómë was an able elf, he could not have got lost, or attacked.

“We must find him!” he called out again.