Being told is one thing, but some sights simply cannot be adequately conveyed no matter how artful the tongues of the quendi or the art of lyricists. Such was the wonder with which I first beheld Caras Galadhan.
Heeding the counsel of the folk of Imladris who had dwelt in the Golden Wood, I made my way down the Celebrant from the pass of Cirith Imladris without incident. I encountered some wolves, but they were of a quite ordinary type and though the pack was large, a forceful shout sufficed to send them looking for more familiar prey, game being everywhere in abundance.
I noted that I was being watched from a distance so I sang the song of Oropher's fall in Mordor, which I was later told by my hosts was unknown to them. I was challenged in the sylvan tongue and answered in Sindarin, whereupon I was led to the post of Haldir, the master of the borderers of the Galadhrim, who himself greeted me courteously and sent a guide with me to convey me quickly to the forest of Nimrodel where I was shewn the city of the Galadhrim from the top of a mallorn. I was told that my epistle to pass within the gates would be duly examined and an answer given on the morrow.
