Three met two along the road. Perhaps it was not a road, not yet, it would be a road someday, and an important one. It would be the path that would take Finrod and his brothers and sister into the realm, and would be a path blocked to their cousin when she and her escort would try to pass through. Even worse, this is the spot where Celegorm and Curufin would clear a path to allow their brothers and their followers into Doriath before its ruin.

Right now, it was just a little dirt covered pathway, barely wide enough for two to stand side-by-side, and trampled upon by Elf and beast and more than likely, things far worse. It was more chance than anything, from the way the trees bowed over it and the leaves covered the ground to keep seedlings from sprouting and filling in the space. One foot tapped impatiently, crunching the leaves. Perhaps it was the first time someone had nervously shown their lack of patience - he may well have invented it. It was all very, very long ago.

“Nothing?” This question came from the craftiest among their ranks, one who they called Beleg. When they first found themselves in this predicament and spent the first harsh winter together, he was the one who took long, straight, sharp sticks and made them into weapons, and learned that with a curved stick, he could fashion himself a bow much like the one that some of them had seen Orome use.

Beleg seemed fairly calm, unlike the person beside him, who frowned and gave a little grunt in the back of his throat when the three they encountered shook their heads. “We are going in circles.” His name was Mablung, and his weapons were cruder than Beleg’s were, a large rock with a hole bored through it through which he had shoved a thick, stubby branch. He hardly needed the club; his fists were often enough to take down the few creatures they encountered that made it past Beleg’s arrows.

“He could be dead.” This suggestion came from the foot tapper, who was presently picking at the skin around his fingernails. They called him Saeros, and found that more often than not, his was a glass that was not half full, nor half empty. His seemed either to be empty, broken, or lost, depending on how foul his mood was at a particular moment.

No better than Saeros was one of his companions, the youngest of their group. He also made things, but unlike Beleg’s use of wood and woven hair, Daeron carried with him a simple harp with six strings. Around the wood he had carved a series of symbols, which he had been intent upon explaining to the others whenever they gave him leave to do so. “We should have followed the others,” he bemoaned.

“Too late now,” replied Beleg in a matter-of-fact tone. Conversations were always brief; there were fewer words to use than one might expect, for until the great journey, there were many things they had not encountered.

“There must be a..” The fifth of the group, and the eldest, with dark skin and darker hair made a motion with his hand as if following someone. “..trailing?”

“A trail?” suggested Mablung.

“Trail.. yes, a trail,” Eol decided.

“There have been eighteen summers and seventeen winters,” Beleg reminded them. “If there was a trail, it is gone now.”

It was only now that Saeros noticed they were missing someone. “Where is your sister?”

Beleg looked down. “Nellas was restless and afraid. She is keeping herself in the trees now.”

Saeros arched an eyebrow, possibly inventing the gesture for later use amongst all of the Free Peoples. “Sleeping in a tree - like an animal?”

“Maybe I should go live with animals,” growled Beleg. “They would show my sister and I more kindness!”

Mablung placed a hand on Beleg’s shoulder to calm him. “He means nothing. He is always just waking up.” Saeros scowled at Mablung’s assessment, but knew better than to snap at the broad Elf who was their chief protector.

“There is merit in what you suggest,” said Eol rather suddenly. He pulled his hood up over his head and strolled off the path.

“Eol?” Daeron looked around at the others before he scurried to catch up. “Eol!” The dark Elf slowed his pace, but did not stop. “Are you going?”

“We search to find nothing,” replied Eol. “Maybe I should go and live amongst the animals. At least they seem to have purposes.” He waved a hand at Daeron. “Go on back. You are too young to be out further in the wilds.”

Daeron defiantly walked beside Eol for hundreds more steps, but did eventually go back when it was obvious the others did not intend to join them.

They would not find Thingol for many years to come, and would not see Eol for many more.