Nearly three weeks had passed since Hutin had first left Imladris, and now summer was in full bloom with a clear blue sky and a hot sun nearly everyday; though there was three days where rain fell constantly in a light drizzle. However, this certain morning was bright and sunny.
The call of cuckoos and finches drifted on the warm southern wind, blowing straight into the small camp of the ranger who had spent the night against a cliff-face within the cover of gnarled oaks and silver birches. The keen ears of the dunadan picked up another noise amongst the bird-song. The crowing and croaking of a raven, and soon enough the large black bird landed nearby on a fallen log with a rolled up parchment between its talons.
"What do you bring, Master Raven?", the ranger asked though he expected no answer and he was not given one. Instead, the bird dropped the parchment and hopped further along the log. A muddied hand reached down, and lifted the paper in his dusty fingers before reading it.
"Dwarven crystals..", he mumbled as chewing on his lower lip in thought before he turned over the parchment to give him a blank canvas. His hand then delved into the burnt out campfire and pulled out a piece of charcoal, and used it as a makeshift quill to roughly respond to the letter.
"Fly swiftly, my friend. To Imladris, from whence you came." He handed the letter back into the dark talons, and with a croak the bird took off and flew east. Quickly, he wrapped up his belongings and suited himself up as he took off once again; following the path he took only the evening before.
Around a week and a half passed since the raven had met Hutin, and he had travelled far. He went east, back into the northern parts of the Trollshaws before he went even further north, through high and rough terrain. He eventaully came into the Ettenmoors, where trolls and giants roamed freely across the frozen and icy Ettendales. Word had reached his ear that there were caves to be found in the northern parts of these lands, where crystals could be found and so he ventured silently through the snowy fields.
Eventually, he came to where the granfather of his chieftain, Arador, had met his end many many years ago, now still told in tale. The fur-clad ranger scouted around, before finding a small entrance that he had to crawl through to get further into the mountain side. He needed no torch, for giving off an pale glow was crystals! Large white ones growing from the wall, giving off a white light. With the swing of his hatchet, and a few shakes, a large amount of these glowing stones fell into his pack and once again he crawled out and made his way south, with all the speed he could muster to escape the chill winds.
Two and a half weeks had been since the start of his journey; and now the ranger had hit a sight he loved to see. The fast flowing river Bruinen and its green thick trees that covered its banks. He was not far off Imladris, and after a quick wash in the cool waters, he moved further on and at nightfall reached the gates to Rivendell.
