[Child of the 7th Age]

By now, the sun had risen high enough to be visible from across the Bay. The wind had picked up and remnents of old twigs and leaves skittered across the top of the ice. Thick clouds scudded into place and the soft pink promise of morning gave way to a sullen gray. The weather was turning against them. Luindal could make out Galhardir plodding about fifteen paces in front of him. But then, without warning, heavy sleet began to fall, stinging Luindal's face and hands and making it extremely difficult to see.

Within a matter of minutes, the freezing rain quickened: it was difficult to make out anything more than a few feet in front of his nose. And for those who lacked the Elven gift of far-seeing, the visibility would be even less. Luindal sighed and shook his head. The winds of chance did not seem to favor them. Even he could not hold the Corsairs responsible for a simple change in the weather. The Elf was about to signal his companions to halt their search and retreat to shore when something calamitous caught his eye, causing his stomach to plummet downward.

There was absolutely no sign of Galhardir anywhere. Sprinting forward as swiftly as he could, Luindal approached the spot where he had last seen his Lossoth companion. Galhardir was gone; neither was there any evidence of his rope. The only thing left was his sharp, pointed prod, carelessly hurled off to the side. Beside the prod was a huge round hole through which the waters of the Bay seethed angrily upward. Galhardir's fate was all too obvious. Luindal glanced behind him, straining to see through the thick curtain of sleet; he heard excited cries coming from other searchers who had apparently fallen into the Bay.

He bellowed out a warning to those in his party who had managed to stay upright on the ice, "Turn back. The ice is broken. Help any who have fallen through."

He retreated again to the gaping hole and was about to dive in, heedless of the danger and thinking only of his companion, when he felt a gentle restraining pressure on his shoulder. Off in the distance, he could hear other frantic voices sounding from the beach, "The rope's been cut. Galhardir's rope has been sliced cleanly in two..."