'The glades of Ithilien were fair as ever; April had passed softly into May and summer was coming in full swing in the south of Middle Earth, but there was a chill and a tension in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. I could feel the trees quivering at the roots and speaking fearfully of current events as I journeyed north. Animals seemed more jumpy than ever; those that would have normally welcomed Elvish company now fleed my footsteps and hid themselves from view at my passing. More obvious than that, however, were the ungraceful tracks of large orcs mushed into the soft mud of the banks of Anduin, all up and down the river. I'd been travelling for days. Elven feet are swift and tireless, and Elven eyes do not need to be shut to sleep, but a weeks worth of journey with no rest and no meals was starting to take its toll. Out of caution, I dared not hunt, lest the prey make some startled noise and find the ears of my foes. Also, I dared not venture too close to the river and out of the cover of the trees. Hence, I'd eaten nothing but wildberries and drank very little since I'd started, filling my water-skin only in the depths of moonless nights. I do not think myself a coward, and indeed I've seen enough fright to fill a million faerie tales with a million horrors, but this new tension in the air was unlike anything I'd experienced before. The fear in the air found a way to coil itself slowly around my heart with every breath I took, and my paranoia grew substantially- I was sure I was being tracked. I dared not stop lest my persuer finally catch me.'