The brief light they had used to choose which way to turn had been extinguished once more, the elves having chosen the left tunnel. The darkness seemed to consume everything, and even elven eyes could see nothing. Vanimorén flinched at his own pathetic thoughts. Here he was, the only one who had spent much time in Moria and he could be of no help because of the darkness? That and the apparent holes in his memory. It almost seemed that he could remember nothing of this place. He tried to concentrate firmly on the task at hand. They were to find Celebrian, and that was what mattered. She had suffered in the awful dark far longer that him.
Just focus, he told himself firmly, You must remember some of these tunnels. But try as he might he couldn’t, and something seemed to tell him they had to be going wrong. But they couldn’t be. He had to stop feeling paranoid. He gripped his sword hilt tightly. It seemed to be his only comfort. In fact, he almost felt as if it bore a link to Moria. As if, if he could hold it tight enough it might remember the way for him.
|