[piosenniel]

Endamir had secured Orëmir and Lindir into the big wooden bucket. Clinging onto the vines on the side of the cliff, he called up to where Lómwë stood waiting. He heard the last of the man’s words, but in his anxious state for his brother and his friend he did not hear them clearly.

. . . I can help you with the basket… but I . . . I’ve lost it, Endamir. I lost it . . . The rest was obscured in the breezes that blew up from the sea below.

Endamir cupped his hands about his mouth and called loudly up to Lómwë. ‘It’s right here,’ he said, shaking the rope so that the other could see it. ‘You haven’t lost it at all. I’ve loaded my brother and Lindir into the bucket, pull hard on the rope, Lómwë, and bring them up.’ He shook the thick coil and watched as the wood and rope contraption began to ascend. ‘Send it back for me once you’ve got them out.’ He stepped back, away from the lip of the ledge and leaned against the rocky wall. His body sagged against it in relief. Orëmir would be fine and Lindir would recover, he was sure.

Endamir moved away from the wall after a few moments of rest intending to see if the bucket had reached the top of the cliff. He was almost to the edge when the force of the Diviner’s mind hit him. He stumbled back, his feet slipping on the bones that had rolled out of the grotto. The rage and hatred of the Diviner was merciless in its battering.

He was not prepared to fight back. Endamir’s mind crumpled beneath the cruel invasion and only darkness remained.