[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir had followed Lómwë’s lead, helping him secure the ropes and anchor the ship to a rock in the shallow waters. Already, the others were bringing provisions on shore and beginning to set up camp on a grassy but protected ledge that stood near the stretch of harbor where their ship was moored. After making certain the knots on the rope held firm, Lindir turned back to Orëmir and offered to help bring their supplies ashore, noting that, unless things had changed much, they would surely need blankets. Himring had always been known for its cold night air. The moon approaches,” Lindir observed to his companion, “Malris is not likely to ask us to do more tonight.”

Despite the ship's tortured path to the island and the grey storm clouds that could still be glimpsed in the distant sky, the land spread out in front of Lindir seemed sweet and fresh, like a tiny jewel lovingly nurtured and polished by the hands of the Sea. Even in the soft shadows of the evening, Lindir could see meadows reaching back from the shore that boasted a carpet of colored flowers along with small rocks and pebbles scattered haphazardly over the ground. Here on the shore, the isle seemed little different than a dozen other places that Lindir had seen in the course of his travels. He had no sense of foreboding or doom such as had plagued his dreams ever since he had received the summons to join his companions. It was only when he looked upward at the crested hill with its shadowy stones half tumbled down that his fingers strayed to the silver brooch at his throat, and he again felt uneasy. But perhaps that feeling would disappear by the light of the day.

The Elf spied a shallow pond, its surface quiet and shimmering in the faint rays of the moonlight, a pool of water teeming with life that had been left behind by the wind and water. “Look there, Orëmir. After a storm, the fish will be biting. I am off to catch a few. Come with me if you would like.”