By dusk, the sky was darkening as they entered the break in the mountains. Some saw this as a foreboding omen, but others took it in stride, knowing that they were still close to the Elf Kingdom. When nightfall finally enveloped them in darkness, Birin ordered a halt, and tents were set up for the first time.
‘We are on the western border of the Elf Kingdom,’ he announced. ‘Beyond is the unknown. It is early yet, but we will stop for the night now.
‘According to the old maps, there is an open hill country some distance past the gap. Beyond this country was said to be a forest, which was reported to have been very great. Through the midst of this forest, there was a great river, and it was along the banks of this river that our ancestors followed its course from the west.
‘Our ancestors,’ he continued, ‘were loath to enter into that forest, not because it was solely the demesne of Faeriekind, but because the forest itself was said to be enchanted. Unlike our ancestors, however, we hope to find that this still holds true today.’
The tents were set up in a wide circle, with a watch set up around the perimeter. The night was preternaturally cold and clear compared with what the Elves were used to. Around midnight the wind died altogether, and the refugees soon discovered that the utter and complete silence was hurtful to the ears, as one strained to hear the least sound, of which there was none.