Upon the slopes of the Ettendales an Elf scout shares weather-wisdom with a Ranger from the Misty Mountains.
'The winds offer strange tidings,' said the Elf, jogging down to meet him. 'Wolves no longer bay at night among the peaks, and the goblins' din grows quiet. Something has silenced them. Perhaps it is an omen, for good or ill.'
'I too have noticed,' said the Ranger, 'and other signs that I have read: there are strange tracks in the snow, sometimes shaped from great pads with claws, and at others like the tread of a large man with shod feet. By his gait I would mark this mountaineering warrior as uncommonly big, unless he is weighed down by some other burden.'
The Elf frowned. 'Warrior you say?'
'Yea,' said the Ranger, and there he pointed to the climbing foothills of the mountains. 'There are many trees, from which gaping scratch-marks ooze resin; and black stains upon rock and snow where battle was given to the goblins. Whomever it was that fought them, he is learned in beast-lore for a mountain bear to have joined the fray, and yet leave him unharmed- that is at least how I read the riddle.'
'Or perhaps he is the bear,' answered the Elf.
The Ranger looked at him doubtfully.
'I have never heard of such power,' he said, 'unless from strange rumour over the mountains. It is said that the Chief of men in the upper vales could skin-change, if that is what you mean. But I did not think that their wider people were so enchanted?'
'Perhaps they are not,' said the Elf; 'but who knows how such enchantments are learned, if indeed they are taught; or perhaps such lore is passed down through blood, and mingled only amongst their mightier folk.'
The Ranger pondered this, before speaking at length. 'And if this man is one of them, can he be trusted?'
The Elf scout looked to the mountains for a moment.
'I do not know.'
