Sounds. Small sounds of moving leaves. In on movement Sydë was of the ground armed with her bow, the arrow only inches away from the animal’s head. It only was Isil, her horse. She lowered her bow and stroked the horse’s head. “Isil, crazy one, you know better than to let me scare like that”, she whispered in the horse ear.
She thought about Isil when she first saw her. She was in Minas Tirith, looking for some supplies and transport. While looking for a horse she came across a small horse. The poor thing was emaciated, and in such a state it was hard to know with color it was. The horse had been an outcast, just like her. She took the animal under her care and after only days out in the wild slopes and wood, the horse had show remarkable strength and speed; it’s dark gray color now clearly visible. She gave it the name Isil, translated Moon in Quenya. They hadn’t been apart since.
She let her thoughts return to the present. She looked at the incredible darkness of the wood. The silence was striking, like the whole world was holding its breath. She sad down on the ground folding her legs under her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep now. She hadn’t been able to have a good night sleep since her mother died. Always hiding, always watching, always on her guard.
She had traveled to almost every corner of Middle Earth, searching for something she did know, without knowing what she wanted to find. Tonight her path had leaded her into a small forest on the west side Hithaiglin or the Misty Mountains, called the troll forest, near to Rivendell. Sydë had never been in Rivendell but had traveled around it many times. Listening to the faint singing voices of the elves that still dwelled there, longing for the company of them. But she couldn’t, they wouldn’t have her.
She looked up through the trees to the sky. Fog was closing in around her. The morning was coming. She put out the small fire that was still going and covered her tracks. You never could be careful enough, she had learned that now, learned it the hard way. In a quick movement she got on Isil, turning her to face the East. Her path would take her past Rivendel, to take the pass over the Misty Mountains to the East side. She took a small path down and stopped for a moment on a small open spot between the trees. Here stood tree stone trolls, as story tells, placed there by an extraordinary Hobbit. She had seen them before but every time she came passed them she felt like she should stop for a second, remembering the tales and legend of the old, and the past hero’s that dwelled here no more.
She left the forest behind a couple hours later, making her way to the river that gained access to the land of Rivendel. She remembered the first time she had crossed the river. She had never felt her heart beat so fast as that day, afraid the power of the elves would set the water loose to devour her. But nothing had happened. That magic of the elves was no more, or just not meant for her. She crossed the river like many times before and rode on, silently, unnoticed. While ridding she listened to the songs of Elves, longing to sing with them. Hoping that someday she would get the change.