She had been flying far and wide, all through the moon lit night.

She had returned to her tower with the first morning light.

She had crumbled to the floor in an exhausted heap of white hair and white feathers.

There had been no information.

In all of Aman.

And Eressëa.

Even the Enchanted Isles.

The Valar – vanished at her approach.

The Sisters of Time – while sympathetic, silent.

Nothing.

oooOooo

She woke, when a small, soft body collided with her.

Turning, she knelt to pick up a small white bird in her small white hands.

It was a tern, a sea swallow, swept in from afar.

Tiny and torn.

“Tuílínn, tuílínn! Man agorech, muínthel-nîn?“

„Tern, tern! What hast thou done, oh sister mine?“

Dark birds’ eyes strained to meet her gaze.

By Ulmo’s grace Elwing the White, bird-sister, white bird, star lover: though not as words little sister tern spoke to her soul in images seen from above.

Wheeling high and low, far, far, far to go.

A gift of knowledge, a gift of love:

The Western shores of Arda, green hills graced by grey ruins, columns of forgotten grace – and the blue and white crystal of the lighthouse blazing brightly across the sea.

Blue and white light in darkest night.

One jewel shining with the light of Two Trees.

Light of the noontide lingering.

Blue and white light in darkest night.

Eärendil’s shining star!

oooOooo

But tiny sister tern, tiny heart torn, lay dead in her hand.

White bird Elwing might be, but would her wings carry her across the sundering sea?