[Child of the 7th Age]

The companions had gathered near the fire as they settled in for the night, telling tales and talking quietly of their plans as they ate their evening meal. Some of the conversation focused on practical matters, such as how they would manage to carry back to the Shire as many provisions as possible. One or two of the hobbits who lived on farmsteads pointed out the need to ask Elrond for a fair supply of fresh seed, if it was available. After all, they reasoned, this weather couldn't last forever, and, when it finally cleared, the soil would need tilling, and the crops planting. It was the first time they had even thought of such a thing.

Suddenly, in the midst of their conversation, there was a slight noise from just beyond the campsite. It was no more than a rustling in the brush, such as a tiny animal might make in its normal progress through the woods. Mirion quickly stood up, but made no effort to put his hand on the pommel of his sword, instead glancing from side to side. The look on his face was one of curiosity and welcoming rather than any show of alarm. He was quite certain that, if it was anything other than what he suspected, Anaradan would certainly have detected it on his scouting rounds. For, even as he stood, the other Ranger was out perambulating the nearby woods, searching for any sign of danger.

But even Rangers are only mortal men. And there are things so fleeting, so silent and shrouded, that they wholly escape the detection of Men. In any case, he'd been half expecting such a thing to happen once they'd passed by the Ford. He'd felt it in the soil and air, and in the strange way that time seemed to pass more slowly.

Suddenly, the limbs of a nearby bush gently parted, and a figure stood before them, half wreathed in shadow. Mirion stepped forward in greeting, while the hobbits looked up with eyes wide open, half disbelieving what they saw.