‘You get the wood, he said.  I’ll get the water, he said.  It’s much heavier, he said.’  Haleth grumbled under her breath as she toiled up another green ridge, her back bent under the weight of the branches she had gathered.  Stray twigs stuck in her sandy hair and scratched at the skin of her ears and neck.  ‘I’ll bet the water was way closer than the wood!’

After an age of trudging she reached the top.  Ahead of her, green hills and ridges stretched away to the hazy horizon.  Drat this countryside anyways; it all looked the same.   She squinted into the distance.  Deliberately placed stones crowned the verdant hills in this part of Eriador, the grey rocks covered in grey-green lichens.  They had obviously been hauled here from somewhere else; were deliberately brought to this distinctly rock-free area at some time in the distant past to adorn the resting places of the dead. 

Haleth wondered why people had bothered.  It was hard enough work carrying a bundle of wood up the steep hills.  She couldn’t imagine hauling an enormous boulder.  It must have taken many teams of horses and men to bring the rocks to their final resting places upon the burial mounds.

The graves were the only sign that people had once lived in the area.  Those who had built the mounds would have been better served spending their efforts on the living rather than the departed. 

At last she spotted a pattern of stones she recognized.  She had veered a little to the north.  With crabbing, sideways steps she picked her way down the hill, taking care to not over-balance and roll into the valley below.

The hot spring sun beat upon her like a blacksmith’s hammer.  Rivulets of sweat streamed down her face and back, pooling under the stack of wood she carried. Her burden would be invaluable once darkness descended for while the spring days were quite warm, the winter cold, reluctant to loosen its final grip upon the land, returned with a vengeance at night. 

And they would need the light to deal with the Barrow-wights.

That would be later.  Right now she was hot and thirsty. She thought of Inglor, her annoying but occasionally useful companion, drinking directly from a stream and dipping his feet into the cool water.  Her eyes narrowed.  Tomorrow she would fill the water skins and he would fetch the wood.

Haleth was just beginning to wonder if she had gone too far to the south when she spotted what she had been looking for; a flat-topped hill.  With one last burst of energy she trudged up the steep slope.  Inglor would undoubtedly be there already, having returned from his errand far earlier.  She hoped he had thought to prepare a meal.  Granted, it would not be a hot meal for they had burned the last of their wood the previous night, but Haleth had had enough of heat for the day. 

‘You are searching the Downs alone?  You are very brave!’  An unfamiliar, somewhat shrill feminine voice reached Haleth’s ears.  The ingratiating tone set her teeth on edge.  She took an immediate dislike to the owner of that voice.

Haleth reached the crest of the hill to discover Inglor sitting on the grass.  A strange woman was there, sitting with her back to the Finder.  She was just a hair too close to Inglor for Haleth’s liking, one slender hand resting upon his arm.

‘Haleth.  There you are,’ said Inglor, leaping gracefully to his feet.  ‘Please.  Allow me to aid you with your burden.’

‘I’ve carried it this far without your help.  I can manage,’ snapped Haleth, brushing past him.  The newcomer spun around, an expression of pure dislike on her face.   The look disappeared so quickly that Haleth wondered if she had imagined it.

‘Who’s this?’ Haleth asked as she struggled towards their makeshift camp at the centre of the hilltop. The hill was crowned with a saucer-like depression and a single, grey standing stone loomed at its very centre. 

Haleth stopped in her tracks.  There was already a pile of wood on the ground.  She glanced at the newcomer, frowning.  The stranger’s stack of wood was slightly larger and very much neater than Haleth’s.  The woman smiled sweetly as she compared the two and found Haleth’s wanting. 

‘I see you’ve brought a little bit of wood, too.  It isn’t much, but every little bit helps!’ said the stranger with insincere sweetness.

Haleth drew back her lips, exposing all of her teeth and examined the newcomer carefully.  She was years younger, slimmer and a shade taller than Haleth.  Her sandy coloured hair was neatly tied back.   Like Haleth, she was wearing a practical tunic and a pair of trousers, but better fitting and without the stains and hastily executed repairs.  Her boots, Haleth noted with a sinking feeling, were practically new.  The polished leather gleamed in the afternoon sun.   Haleth glanced down at her worn, sweat-stained clothing, the layers of patches on her shabby boots and felt utterly inadequate. 

‘And you are?’ Haleth demanded coolly, raking her hand through her hair, dislodging several twigs in the process. 

‘This is Hireth,’ said Inglor.

‘Hireth?’ echoed Haleth.  ‘What kind of a name is that? I’ve heard of Hirwen, but never Hireth.’

‘It is a noble name with a storied past,’ sniffed Hireth in a tone of voice that implied she was not surprised by Haleth’s woeful lack of knowledge.

‘No, haven’t heard of it,’ said Haleth with a dismissive shrug. 

‘This is Haleth.  I spoke of her earlier,’ said Inglor, his tone open and polite.

‘Tell me you haven’t heard of that name,’ Haleth challenged.

Hireth replied with an expression that was more sneer than smile. 

‘I’d advise you to be on your way. These hills are safe during the daylight but they are dangerous after dark,’ said Haleth as she rummaged through her pack, looking for food.  It was obvious that Inglor had been too busy entertaining Hireth to prepare a meal.  This did nothing to improve Haleth’s opinion of the newcomer.

‘I have no fear of the Barrow-wights,’ said Hireth airily.

‘Good,’ thought Haleth.  ‘That will make it easier for them to catch you.’

‘So you’re here to visit them, then?’ asked Haleth, pulling a package out of her pack.  The small bundle contained a morsel of dried up cheese and a hunk of stale bread. 

‘You’re not going to eat that, are you?’ asked Hireth, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Grinning evilly, Haleth stuck the cheese onto the dried bread and took a large bite. Crumbs exploded in every direction. 

Hireth visibly shuddered and looked away in revulsion.  She tried to catch Inglor’s eye but his attention was on the verdant landscape. 

Haleth immediately regretted her actions.  She had already been thirsty when she had arrived at the campsite.  Chewing on the stale bread was like eating sand.  She reached for the nearest water skin. 

‘So if you’re not on your way somewhere else, why are you here?’ Haleth demanded, mumbling with her mouth half full of food.

‘Hireth is searching for the Harp of Gamil Zirak,’ said Inglor.

Haleth stopped in mid-chew.  This was the artifact she and Inglor sought! She forced herself to swallow.  The lump of bread was like a jagged rock in her throat. ‘Gamil Zirak was a Dwarven smith. You should search in the Ered Luin where there are Dwarves,’ she said.

‘King Thingol possessed many artifacts made by the hand of Gamil Zirak.  Not all perished in the wreck of Doriath,’ said Inglor.

Haleth glared at Inglor.  As always, he was oblivious to her bad mood.

‘The Harp is here, somewhere in these Barrows,’ said Hireth.  ‘How fortunate that I found you.  Now we can search for it…together.’  She gazed at Inglor with doe-like eyes.

Haleth opened her mouth to protest. She did not want this Hireth creature anywhere near Inglor or the harp.  A loud hiccough suddenly erupted from her. 

‘Which barrow shall we search first?’ asked Hireth.  ‘That one is closest.’ She pointed to a nearby mound.

‘Won’t be in there,’ said Haleth, between hiccoughs. 

‘And how do you know?’ demanded Hireth with a sneer.

‘Woman’s buried there,’ said Haleth.

‘And you know this, how, exactly?’ asked Hireth, her voice dripping with condescension.

‘The placement of the stones,’ said Inglor while Haleth held her nose and gulped a huge mouthful of water.

‘Oh.  You are so wise,’ simpered Hireth, lightly touching Inglor’s arm. 

Haleth snorted, rolled her eyes and let out a huge, painful belch.  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, tapping her chest.

Hireth looked at her the way one would examine a particularly large and hairy spider.

‘We should split into two groups to search more quickly.  Haleth, you can look over there.’  Hireth pointed towards a high hill.  It was surmounted by a very large barrow. Its standing stones seemed menacing even in the light of day. ‘While Inglor and I can look there.’ She then pointed to a small, unassuming hill. 

‘We shall all search together,’ said Inglor.

‘But…’ said Haleth and Hireth simultaneously.

‘It is far too dangerous for either of you alone,’ he said while the two women glared at each other.

‘Then why don’t the two of us search together and you search alone?’ Haleth suggested, visions of feeding Hireth to a Barrow-wight dancing in her mind.  From the expression on Hireth’s face, she was no doubt entertaining the same idea.

‘We shall all search together,’ Inglor repeated in a calm voice that belied a mountain of stubbornness.

‘But,’ said Hireth.  She looked as though she had eaten a sour candy.

‘Together,’ Inglor insisted.

‘Oh, very well,’ said Haleth without any grace. She had known Inglor long enough to recognize an unwinnable argument when she saw one. 

‘We should take our rest,’ said Inglor.

‘I’ll take the first watch,’ chirped Hireth.

‘I’ll take the second,’ growled Haleth, not liking the idea of sleeping one bit because it would effectively leave Inglor alone with Hireth.  She detested the way the newcomer batted her eyelashes at the Elf.  She glared at Inglor who had settled in to make torches, completely oblivious to the tension surrounding him.

Haleth sighed and slowly relaxed.  She could depend upon Inglor to behave with the utmost propriety.

With one last, venomous glare at Hireth, Haleth cast herself upon the grass and let the warm sun lull her to sleep.

Haleth awakened some time later to a silvery world of mist, her heart pounding.  It was freezing cold.  A tall, shadowy figure loomed over her, its eyes glowing with a pale, distant light.  She stared at it, unable to move.

The Barrow-wight reached for her, confident that it had caught its prey.

Inglor’s pure, beautiful voice suddenly filled the air.  The Barrow-wight froze, then the light of its eyes winked out and it vanished.

‘What is it?’ Hireth asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

‘Haleth was attacked by a Barrow-wight.’ Inglor appeared out of the sea of white. ‘Are you well?’ he asked Haleth, his voice full of concern.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, warmed by the gentleness of his words.

‘Oh, how terrible.’  Hireth appeared out of the fog.  She sounded as though the only terrible thing was that Inglor had saved Haleth. ‘She must have fallen asleep on watch.’

‘I did NOT fall asleep on watch.  You never awakened me!’ spluttered an outraged Haleth. ‘Probably because you were asleep,’ she added darkly.

‘No, no.  I awakened you,’ said Hireth calmly. 

‘I have no memory of it,’ snapped Haleth.

‘The night is upon us.  We should proceed with our search,’ said Inglor calmly as the women glared daggers at each other.

The moon rose while they ate a cold, cheerless meal, its light turning the world to an eerie silvery white. Haleth looked up to see the stars clearly visible overhead.

‘Let us be on our way,’ said Inglor as Hireth poured water over her hands and delicately wiped them on a clean square of cloth.

‘Do not become lost in the fog.  These hills are perilous,’ said Inglor as he passed around unlit torches.

‘Surely you shall save me,’ said Hireth. 

‘Only if you are close.  If we all become separated, I may not reach you in time.’

Haleth took grim satisfaction in seeing Hireth’s eyes widen with fear.  Her happiness evaporated when Hireth grabbed Inglor’s hand.

‘That’s too close,’ said Haleth. 

‘No,’ said Inglor.  Haleth’s heart fell at Hireth’s triumphant smile.

‘How will you fight?’ Haleth demanded.

‘My voice is my most powerful weapon against the Barrow-wights,’ he said.  Nevertheless he loosened his sword from its scabbard as he spoke.  ‘Let us be on our way.  And I repeat; do not become lost in the fog.’

The pair disappeared into the sea of silver light.  Haleth plunged after them and nearly ran into Inglor’s back.  There was no way she was going to hold Hireth’s hand, so she had to be content with grabbing onto the back of Inglor’s tunic. 

‘I knew you would defend me,’ sighed Hireth.

Haleth jogged behind them, her mind filled with bitterness.  Inglor never held her hand.  He’d never even offered to hold her hand. To be fair, Hireth had grabbed his hand without asking, but he hadn’t shaken her off the way he would shake off Haleth.  Except she didn’t know that he would shake her off.  She stopped that train of thought, disgusted with herself.  Why would she want to hold his hand anyways?  It’s not like she was some weak, neatly groomed child in desperate need of protection. She could take care of herself, had taken care of herself for years.  She didn’t need someone to save her. She could save herself!  Except in those rare cases where she was jumped by Barrow-wights because someone else had fallen asleep on watch.

That was the problem with other people; they always let you down when you most needed them.  Haleth knew she would be far better off on her own.  In fact, as soon as they found the harp she would part ways with Inglor.  Hireth could have him.  Now that Hireth had found Inglor, it would be impossible to make her go away.  Inglor had shown no sign of telling her to leave. In truth, he had invited her along.  In fact, he was holding her hand while Haleth held onto his shirt-tails and trailed along like an afterthought.  Well that was just fine!  He could have this new, improved version of her and she hoped they would be very happy together!

Haleth abruptly ran into Inglor’s back.  The trio was huddled between two enormous standing stones. 

‘Couldn’t we come back in daylight?’ asked Hireth in a quavering voice.

‘Not unless you’re fond of digging,’ said Haleth, who was certain that Hireth had never lifted anything heavier than a hairbrush.

‘You could do it.  You seem well suited to that sort of thing,’ snapped Hireth.

‘It would take years to dig into every barrow on these downs,’ said Inglor while Haleth spluttered in outrage.  ‘It is much easier to enter them at night, when they are open.’

‘And the Barrow-wights are abroad,’ Haleth added for good measure.

‘We shall light the torches and then we shall enter the barrow,’ said Inglor. 

There was a pause.

‘Hireth, you must release my hand.  Otherwise I cannot light the torches,’ he said.

‘Couldn’t you light the way with a song?  You have such a lovely voice,’ asked Hireth shrilly.

‘Nevermind.  I’ll light them,’ said Haleth angrily.  She pulled a tinderbox from one of her secret pockets and set about making a flame, taking grim satisfaction from Inglor calmly telling Hireth to let go of him and Hireth making excuse after excuse to refuse. 

‘Here,’ said Haleth, holding the burning brand out to Inglor.  He made one last, futile attempt to divest himself of Hireth then sheathed his sword and took the torch in his right hand. 

She lit a second torch and offered it to Hireth.  The young woman’s face was waxy with fear.  ‘How badly do we need this thing, anyways?’ she asked.

‘The harp of Gamil Zirak is a powerful artifact.  Too powerful to be left where it can be found and used for evil purposes,’ said Inglor.

‘Who would use it?  It’s buried!’ said Hireth in a muffled wail.

‘You came looking for something and you don’t know what it does?’ asked Haleth.

‘I suppose you do?’ Hireth scoffed.

‘The Harp of Gamil Zirak gives its musician great influence over his listeners,’ said Haleth, determined to prove her superiority.  ‘If the musician playing the harp sings of the glories of battle, the listeners will be inspired to fight bravely.  If he sings of peace, the listeners will become calm. It’s likely stopped quite a few brawls.’

‘And if she sings of love?’ demanded Hireth, way too eagerly for Haleth’s liking.

‘Please stop, the both of you.  The Barrow-wights are not aware of the presence of the harp.  We do not want them to discover it first.’  Inglor spoke as sharply as Haleth had ever heard him.

‘Let us go,’ said Inglor while Haleth kicked herself.  He attempted to advance but was stopped by Hireth, who was frozen to the spot.

‘But isn’t there a Barrow-wight in there?’ she asked, her voice trembling.

‘Haven’t you been listening?  That’s the idea,’ said Haleth.

‘Hireth, please.  We must retrieve the harp,’ said Inglor.

‘Here, I’ll go first.  Otherwise we’ll be standing here until morning,’ said Haleth in a clipped tone, squeezing past Inglor.

She held the torch directly in front of her and then deliberately marched across the threshold of the barrow.

The torchlight immediately dimmed, the silver fog vanished.  Haleth continued for a few steps, not wanting to be accidentally set ablaze by Inglor as he followed behind her. 

The torch lit a tiny area with a very dim light.  Haleth waved it back and forth, searching the chamber.

Something golden glistened in the half light.  She stepped towards it, the torch in her left hand and her long knife in her right. 

Her foot crunched on something.  The sound fell flat in the darkness of the barrow.  A quick wave of the torch revealed bones.  Haleth shuddered and hoped they were from an animal and she did not stop to examine them closely.

She took another step, pushing something out of the way with her outstretched toes. 

It was horribly cold and horribly stuffy at the same time, as though the air in the barrow had been trapped inside for over an age.  A faint noise; a shuffling or a sniffling came from straight ahead.  Haleth stopped and pointed the torch in its direction.  Where was Inglor?  The thing stirred again in the darkness.  The hairs on her neck rose and a chill ran down her spine. She could feel it gaining courage, getting ready to attack.

Light suddenly burst into the barrow as Inglor entered, dragging a struggling Hireth after him.

‘But I don’t want to go in!’ she wailed.

‘Too late now,’ remarked Haleth cheerfully, grateful for Inglor’s presence, even if he had brought Hireth with him.

She stopped. And stared.

The light from Inglor’s torch revealed a golden treasure piled at the centre of the barrow.  Haleth whistled under her breath.

‘Look at this, Inglor.  It like a dragon’s hoard!’ she exclaimed.

‘No.  Dragon hoards are much, much larger,’ he said.

It sounded as though he had seen at least one dragon’s hoard at some time in the past.  She vowed to ask him about it later.

‘Hold this,’ he said thrusting the torch towards Hireth who was still stubbornly clinging to his hand.  He dragged her toward the golden pile while Haleth circled around it.  They dug into the golden heap, casting all manner of trinkets and baubles aside.

‘Look at all this, Inglor,’ said Haleth, letting the gold run through her fingers.  ‘There’s enough to buy a small fiefdom in here.’

‘We only need the harp,’ said Inglor.

‘But that ring is very pretty,’ said Hireth, who seemed to have forgotten her fear when she saw the treasure. 

‘And look at this knife!’ exclaimed Haleth breathlessly as she pulled a silvery blade from an elaborately wrought scabbard. 

‘We take nothing but the harp, if we find it. The Barrow-wights are jealous of their treasures. We do not wish to provoke them,’ said Inglor.  He looked significantly at Haleth who, with a heavy sigh, put the knife back into the scabbard and placed it onto the hoard.  Hireth, taking advantage of Inglor’s distraction, slipped the ring into her pocket.

‘And taking this harp isn’t going to provoke them?’ Haleth demanded.

‘What is that?’ said Inglor, ignoring her and focusing his attention upon the treasure.

‘Another priceless, golden something that we can’t have?’ Haleth offered.

‘Hireth, help me dig through these coins,’ said Inglor.  Haleth frowned, her brow darkening like a thundercloud, but she helped to scrape away layers of torques, cups and earrings nonetheless.

‘Here!’ Inglor cried triumphantly as he grasped something and pulled it clear of the hoard.

A small, golden, jewel-encrusted harp lay in his grasp, glittering dimly in the ruddy light of the torches.

‘That’s it?’ asked Hireth incredulously.

‘I believe so,’ said Inglor.  He held it up, examining the inlaid gems.  ‘It certainly appears to be the work of the Dwarves.’

‘It’s not really what I was expecting,’ said Haleth.

‘Me neither,’ agreed Hireth.  ‘It seems rather…’

‘Small,’ Haleth finished.

‘Size has no bearing on the power of an artifact,’ said Inglor. 

Both women rolled their eyes while Inglor continued his examination of the harp.

‘Why not test it?’ offered Haleth.

‘Yes, play it and sing a song that will make Haleth caper about like a goat,’ suggested Hireth.

‘I do not wish to test it in the barrow,’ he said. 

‘Why not?’ Hireth demanded.

‘Because you would both caper about like goats and it is too dangerous to caper in here.’

Haleth was suddenly reminded of their surroundings.  There was a soft thump and a scrabbling behind her as though something large and heavy had fallen as was now dragging itself across the floor.

‘Maybe we should take it outside and test it,’ she suggested.

Her suggestion was ignored. Haleth snorted in disgust.  Her breath came out in a silvery flume. Moving very slowly, she brandished her knife once more and turned to investigate the sound at the back of the barrow. 

She had barely gone three paces when the air became a frigid wall.  Hireth screamed.  Two malevolent eyes glared down at Haleth.  A shadowy sword suddenly thrust at her from the darkness.

Haleth grunted and twisted out of the way.  Her movements were slow, as though she was suspended in syrup. The sword slid slowly past her as she fell onto her back.

There was a crash behind her and then Inglor’s voice filled the barrow.  He sang in a language Haleth did not understand but his voice was clear and beautiful.

A shriek of despair erupted from the Barrow-wight. It was very loud but quickly faded as though it was moving away at great speed.  The sword clattered to the ground. 

Haleth’s relief was short-lived.  There was an enormous crash.  Something heavy hit her square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

‘Haleth.  Haleth!’ cried Inglor as Haleth fought to draw breath.  She could not speak but she could see perfectly. 

Inglor leapt over the treasure to reach her while, behind him, Hireth grabbed the harp.

Haleth tried to shout a warning but her breath came in tiny, painful sobs. 

The sound of harp strings filled the barrow.  It was immediately obvious from the discordant cacophony that the harp had not been tuned in years.  It was equally obvious that Hireth did not know how to play it.

This did not appear to deter Hireth.  She smiled triumphantly as she began to sing.

Oh Inglor, fairest of the fair

Long of leg and golden of hair

Forget the one who lies there dead

Come!  And follow me instead!

Inglor stopped in his tracks, a puzzled expression on his face.  To Haleth’s horror, he slowly spun around and walked back to Hireth who was strumming the out of tune harp strings with one hand and holding out her other hand to him.

‘No!’ It should have been a despairing shriek but all Haleth could manage was a pathetic whisper.  Inglor would leave her here, fresh meat for the Barrow-wights, and this Hireth creature would take her place. 

Of course he would choose Hireth over her.  It was inevitable.  Hireth was Haleth only much improved; younger, prettier, stronger, better dressed and with much better manners.  No wonder Inglor had chosen Hireth.  It was bound to happen, even without the magical harp.

Haleth’s eyes stung with unshed tears as Inglor reached out to take Hireth’s hand.  Hireth’s smile became beatific.  ‘I win!’ the younger woman sang.

Then Inglor’s hand slid past Hireth’s to grasp the harp.  ‘May I see this, please?’ he asked.  Hireth’s grip tightened on the instrument.  She was no longer smiling.

‘Thank-you,’ said Inglor as he easily plucked the harp out of Hireth’s hand. 

‘But how can you?’ she babbled as Inglor turned the harp over and over, examining it minutely. 

‘You were supposed to…’ she continued.  

Haleth found she could mostly breathe again. She rolled onto her side, watching the display with interest.

‘It wasn’t supposed to end this way!’ Hireth exploded, stamping her foot.

‘My, my, such a temper,’ said Haleth as she painfully dragged herself to her knees.

‘You were supposed to love me!’ Hireth screamed at Inglor.  ‘You’re mine!’

Inglor lowered the harp.  He seemed to grow taller and his eyes shone intensely ‘I am not your property,’ he said coldly. ‘Day is breaking.  I believe you should be on your way.’

Hireth whirled on her heel and fled, leaving a long, despairing cry in her wake. It sounded like an echo of the Barrow-wight.

‘Good riddance,’ gasped Haleth as she limped over to Inglor, who was studying the harp once again.

‘So…why didn’t it work?’ she wondered.  Perhaps Elves were immune to Dwarven magic.

‘The air is foul.  Let us leave this place.’

He walked out of the barrow, still holding the harp.  Haleth dragged herself after him. Her chest was burning and there was a dull ache in her stomach.

Inglor paused and held the harp up to the golden light of the morning sun.

Then, to her shock, he pulled out a short blade and scraped the golden surface.

‘As I thought,’ he said serenely.  ‘This is a forgery.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Haleth.  All that work for nothing!  Well, not nothing, exactly.  Hireth was gone and that was a vast improvement.

‘I suspected.’

‘You only suspected when it didn’t work on you,’ said Haleth.

‘When what didn’t work on me?’ asked Inglor, bewildered.

‘When Hireth’s love song didn’t work!’ she exclaimed.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘You know… Oh Inglor fairest of the fair and all that.  She was hoping to bewitch you.’

‘That would have had no effect on me even if this was the Harp of Gamal Zirak,’ he said with complete certainty.

‘Oh, really?’ said Haleth skeptically.

‘Yes.’

‘Then how did you know it was a forgery?’

He held the harp up again.  Sunlight glimmered on the gems and the golden strings. It was lovely to behold.

‘It is too perfect,’ he said.

Haleth’s jaw dropped open in silent protest.

‘A thing like the Harp of Gamal Zirak is very powerful.  It is best to not make such things so shiny and obvious. They attract far too much attention to themselves, and for the wrong reasons.  This harp is very pretty, but it is not the one we seek.’

Haleth glowered into the West.  The forest was a dark smudge on the horizon.

‘Then we’ll have to keep looking.  We’ll need more supplies. I’ll get the water.  You get the wood.’