It's been days. Weeks. Months, actually. Months since she left lands of Eriador to seak her fate back where she came from - dark, grim, vicious forests of Mirkwood under the pseudo protectorate of the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. Now not the Necromancer, but a Wraith of his corrupted creation. Doesn't matter. She was planning this long before she departed, thinking about it every single day. It followed her in nightmares. Followed her in her dreams. Followed her in her visions and illusions. A big, dark fortress. Smell of blood and rotten flesh. Smell of ill and smell of plague. All those little things meant something to her. That is why she is coming back, yet another time.
But now, there is something different about her trip.
She still has her bright, unnatural ashy short hair. Bandages all over her face. Blood spots on her nose. Brightly grey eyes flashing as if blind. No smile, still no smile on her face. A simply frown of sadness for what has happened to the lands. Lands she swore to protect despite her not being the native. It didn't matter. What changed is that she was no longer on the battle field. No longer fighting. She couldn't be found anywhere. No trace of her footsteps. No trace of her letters, notes, signs. She left nothing behind her. Like a ghost, she just vanished into the abyss.
Maybe she is dead. Maybe she is not. But she is definitely not in the forest. Forest is filled with everything but her. There is a trace. A trace was found. Her shoulderpad. A dark, crumbled, crashed and ravaged shoulderpad with a Northern Star barely seen. No longer bright, so. It is her, definitely her.
It was lying in the mud. By the gate of Dol Guldur.
