[Anguirel]

Malris was livid with himself. Dwelling on insubstantial threats, and climbing carelessly, his clumsiness had been the origin, as far as he could feel, of this disaster. His face became pale as the foam of the sea as he swivelled abruptly, unbuckling his pack of supplies as quickly as he could. Seizing a loaf of waybread at the top, he nearly flung it aside before recalling that, with fortune against him, this would only cause another mishap, and placed in his lap. At last the grey reassurance of the rope was in his hands. There was no time to tie a loop; with good Lindon sea-rope, there was also no need to.

Malris let out the harsh cry, "Loke!", and its song echoed about the island as the rope curved into place. Its loop completed, Malris hurled it downwards, with the famous prayer of Fingon on his lips...

"O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this line and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!"

At this, the calls of the gulls-always present intermittently on Himling-began to magnify. One large black-headed bird soared into the rope's path, batting it with his long, cruel beak, ensuring that it flew truly to Endamir and Tasa below. The continued, monotous gull sounds prevented further words; but they were not required. Malris grimly held fast to his end of the silvery twine, mentally thanking the King of Arda whom he had impetuously defied with the others, long ago.