The figure hissed menacingly, and vanished, leaving its cloak to fall empty to the ground. Niles was about to prod it with the tip of his sword when it began to smoke, and was carried away on the breeze.
Niles and his men looked about nervously. At last, Niles laughed bitterly. "So much for taking him unawares! Come, let us leave this place."
The sky grew overcast, and a stiff breeze rippled the grass of the plain like an unquiet sea. Paris, his aide, rode to Nile's side. "Was that truly Morlock, sire?" he asked worriedly.
"No," Niles replied. "It was merely a facsimile. Though I have never laid eyes on Morlock, and though no man now living has, I am certain that what we beheld was a faithful facsimile, a shade cast by Morlock from afar. Had it been Morlock himself, it would have carried Morlock's staff, receptacle of his power. Whatever the facsimile was, it wanted to dissuade us. And that," he said, turning to Paris, "is enough to give me hope."
They arrived at the Bridge Fortress on the White River a few days later, finding it heavily guarded. Once across, they followed the river east. When they reached the end of the Black Wood, they met a company of elves who were patrolling the area. They were greeted by Finrain, who had ridden with Dorain's company before.