She was going home.
Eira raced across the Greenway, shoes pounding against the stones as she raced through the night. Mist coated the rolling hills as she transitioned to smooth grass. Her conversation with Seregrian, their deal, and how the elf had convinced her to return home all roared in her mind. As she continued to run, the mist clouding her vision, the young woman looked back on her hectic, crazy last several days. Only a couple minutes after her confession with the man she loved, she had been rooted out and attacked by a former ally of the Moredain. The spy revealed that he knew her past, and he had reported her existence to her father, Aglarzor, a warlord of Mordor.
The half-Numenorean raced through the hills, looking around and trying to figure out where the Greenway was. She had fled shortly after the spy's attack. She had been determined that the only way to save her friends was to turn herself in. Yet, Seregrian had put to rest such a fantasy. She had reminded her of how far the Black Numenoreans would go to punish a traitor of Mordor. They would not only punish Eira, but her friends as she watched in anguish. Thus, the only option left was to fight. To follow that first lesson of her father's, to show no mercy to her enemies. If Aglarzor was her enemy now, Aglarari would go to war to protect her new friends and family of Bree. She was going home, to her friends.
Yet, she faced a conundrum now. She stood still, drowning in the images of nothing but mist surrounding her. Looking around, tossing her walking stick from one hand to another, she glanced around the blindness of the vapor, feeling ever so slightly chilled. Taking careful steps, with the sudden feelings of wariness setting in, she traversed the grassy slopes, shadowed in fog, trying to figure out where the road was. The gut feeling that she had lost her way knocked at her door. If it were not for the fog that coated the road, she would still be on it! She walked on, trying to pinpoint any out of place markings she could find. Alas, only tall grasses and rolling hills were to be seen. The nervousness was turning into worry as the truth sunk in, the damnation of being lost.
She bit back the urge to curse in Black Speech.
Continuing her trek through the unfamiliar hills, she poked around with her staff, trying to feel around her. After so long roaming under the clouded sky, Eira saw that one of the hills was different. The mound appeared like any other hill through the mist, save for the strange shadows of what appeared to be a stone arch. Was this, perhaps, one of those hobbit holes Eira had heard about? No, no hobbits were a joyful and social folk. This place was the farthest thing from that. Lonesome, cold, and fear inspiring. Eira squinted, stepping closer and peering deep. Indeed, that was a stone arch, the tunnel leading within caved in by more stone. The carvings of the arches were unlike anything she had ever seen. Images in a library book sprung in her mind. The reality set in. She knew where she was. She realized, in this horrible moment, what this mound was.
She had stumbled into the Barrow Downs.
