A white bird with golden eyes soared under the fading light of the stars towards the Gulf of Lune.

Every breath burned like fire in her strained lungs.
Every beat of her tired wings sent waves of agony through her body.

And still there was only the sea below her, and the far green shores seemed drawing farther and farther away into a golden haze of early morning light.

Soon the sun would rise, and she would not be able to maintain her bird form in its bright and earthly light.
Soon the sun would rise and she would fall.

Training her gaze onto the wavering blue and white light, which flashed to her from the distant shore, Elwing drew on hidden reserves of strength she had not known she possessed.

With a desperate burst of speed, she streaked across the brightening sky, a feathery white arrow seeking its target.

But although the shores and the lighthouse of the Havens were by now clearly visible to her sharp bird’s eyes, her haven was still many miles away.

Dawn was coming swiftly now.

Already the sky was flushed with pink and gold in the East, holding the promise of a sweet summer’s day.

The sky of night, which sheltered her still, was paling by the minute, its myriads of stars withdrawing to the outer reaches of heaven and void with every labored breath she took.

On, on, on – she thought.
Just one more time.
One more time.

Her wings were growing heavy, dragging her down.

Already she was losing height, and the strength of the air currents supporting her lithe form was diminishing.

On, on, on – she thought.
Just one more time.
And one more time.

I can see the light.

Tiny sister tern was right.

Blue and white, Eärendil’s light.

On, on, on – she thought.

Pain in her lungs.
Pain in her wings.

Pain!

On, on, on – she thought.

Could she even remember him?

It had been millennia since she had last seen his eyes.
Since she had heard his voice.
Since she had felt his touch.

A cry of anguish rose from the depth of her heart.
A cry of pain echoed across the vastness of the sea.
A cry of desperation was swept to the shores of Mithlond’s havens grey.

White bird’s wings faltered.
White bird’s eyes lost sight of her light of blue and white.

Once more she regained her balance, forced her tired body upwards, soaring, flying, up, up, up into the sky of morning –

the sky of morning –

golden, glorious, bright with grace:

sunrise!

White bird wings on.
White bird’s wings gone.

White bird falling from the sky:

tumbling,
turning,
white feathers drifting down onto the waves.

With a scream a slender Elvish woman hit the waves in cloud of white feathers.
For a moment she tried to keep her head above the waves, striking out as if to swim to shore.

Then the last remnants of strength left her.
The waves closed in above her.

She was gone.