With that sound came a wrathful wind that wrapped itself around Ërna, who turned to face it.

Looking at her were the lavender eyes of a massive, white wolf. Gleaming in the shadows of the grove, they distorted Ërna’s light with their menacing mood. As it bore its teeth at her, she saw another fang shimmer as it was unsheathed—a rider revealed upon its back.

They leapt out and over Ërna in an instant, landing between her and Fëor.

“What is an Eldásr doing here?!” The rider boomed.

Ërna trembled.

“I-I’m just…I w-w-was only—“

She closed her eyes tightly. Who would actually believe her in a moment like this? It was an act of mithra—a miracle—that Fëor had been so patient and open-minded with her. There was just no way that luck could last…

And then she felt a rush of cold air—followed by a blade to her neck.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, cinder,” a voice warned in Ërna’s ear, jolting her eyes open again. It belonged to the rider, who was now only inches from Ërna’s face. She was a demi-human, blending the traits of wolf and Luálr together as one—a Gälr.

“Herbs,” Ërna whimpered. “I’m here to g-gather herbs.”

She pointed to her basket, which had toppled over to reveal a few local flowers, namely a bundle of elëásír and a singlenoramýr. And yet, despite that evidence…

Beads of blood appeared where the blade nicked Ërna’s neck.

“Lies,” growled the Gälr. “Even at a glance I can tell you’re too pampered for that. Your hands are too smooth and your hair too silken for serious labor. I suppose you thought it made for a convenient cover, though.

“But why come so far for so little?” the Gälr pressed. “Those plants grow at the edges of Gälenor. Why not pick them there and prance your way back home? Why did you come to the heart of our land for a basket-full of herbs? Better yet, how did get this far?!”

She returned her blade to Ërna’s throat, drawing fresh blood.

“This grove is full of sentries,” she explained. “Every animal wandering these woods watches for trespassers like you. How could a humble herbalist slip past all of them?”

Ërna was silent. She looked down and to the left, unsure of what to do or how to respond. After all, even she didn’t know how she had come so far. She simply followed her feet. Of course she could have gathered these herbs closer to home, but she didn’t want to be home to begin with. But there was no way that answer would help her now. Being honest wasn’t going to save her; and to make matters worse, her only potential ally, Fëor, was probably starting to doubt her, as well.

"Answer me!"

There was no time to think. Seeing no way out, she began to accept her doom and hope for mercy...

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"Valýría,” a familiar voice intervened. "I know she's an Eldásr, but...but her wind..." And then it faltered. Valýría's sharp, violet eyes swiftly silenced it.

"Fëor," she replied, her voice both stern and surprisingly soft. "You’re too gentle. Dangerously so. I know you despise conflict, but this is necessary. For the sake of our home, I can't let her go.”

“P-please,” Ërna begged. “I swear to Gylthra that I mean no harm. I…I ran away from home. I d-don’t have any loyalty for that—“

“Your spells have no hold here,” Valýría interrupted, her words final. As they echoed in Ërna’s mind, the wolf Valýría had ridden lowered its head and snarled. It was then that she saw the rose-gold markings swirling through its silvery coat—a sign that before her was an ëolfëánor, one of the ancient, greater land-spirits charged with guarding Gälenor.

And then…the unthinkable happened.

Fëor grabbed Valýría’s wrist, pulling the blade away from Ërna’s throat. Valýría caught her breath, her razor-sharp focus wavering for the first time. Never before had Fëor acted so forcefully. This seemed to shock everyone in the glade; but Ërna, who had only just met Fëor, was able to snap back to her senses before the rest. Taking advantage of that moment, she swooped down, spun around, and began sprinting back towards the grove.

Valýría clicked her tongue, flying after Ërna with fury. It wouldn’t be long before she caught her. Even a nimble Eldásr could hardly hope to outrun a Gälr and ëolfëánor in their home turf. This time, however, Valýría had no intention to ask questions. She planned to end things swiftly, before that cinder could set the whole grove ablaze.

"Stop this madness!"

Birds fled as the earth shook, reverberating with that bellowed command. Only Valýría continued undaunted, chasing after her prey; but even she was stopped by the great bear that appeared before her, standing twice as tall as its kin. Its deep brown coat was hoary and tipped with moss, making it seem as though he had risen from the earth itself—and perhaps he had. Turning around as she stumbled, Ërna saw the rose-gold swirls of the ëolfëánorí on its back before she disappeared into the shadows once more.

"What are you doing?!" Valýría barked, undeterred. "She's getting away!"

"Fëor was right to stop you, young sapling," he soothed. "Did you really not notice? I know Várnos did and yet he still went along with your vehemence. That young Fëolásr meant no harm here. Her wind was indeed warm."

Valýría stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, but her bottled frustration soon erupted.

"You crazy old coot! I don't care if you're the lord of this land, Bëolnos, you're going senile! You're too soft! You're always so...so...wishy-washy! You know war looms just over our heads! We can't afford to make mistakes..."

"Even so," Bëolnos began, "I forbid any action be taken before an assembly can gather beneath Gälnos to discuss this matter with balanced minds."

Valýría groaned.

“Várnos and I can sense the winds of Ethýría more clearly than you or Fëor,” Bëolnos chided. “I cannot fathom a Fëolásr like her coming this far without receiving guidance from Gylthra. Can you? Can you truly imagine a spy so skillful? Nay, she wandered here on the winds of fate.”

“You’ll doom us all if you rely on a goddess for guidance,” Valýría stated grimly.

“Please,” Bëolos sighed, “just have faith in my instincts and experience, young sapling.”

“Faith won’t save us from the fire,” she spat.

While they argued, Fëor glazed at the palm of his hand, which now held the noramýr that Ërna left behind. It had grown in the grove but far from his glade, so he had never seen it before. Each of its four petals was tipped with a different color. He found it strange and beautiful, not knowing the significance that it bore.

Then his eyes wandered west, wondering where Ërna had gone and what she would do…and how she would survive. Indeed, he worried. The thought of chasing after her crossed his mind, and yet his feet remained firmly rooted to his glade. He was afraid, perhaps even more so now that he could no longer hide from the reality of the wider world. For better or worse, it had seeped into his life through Ërna. With her came a dawn from the west—but how bright the day it would bring remained to be seen.

And further west than Fëor’s thoughts, at the edge of Gälenor where the meadow of Mýrás ends, entered Valýría’s greatest fear.