The Eye of the Hunter (Mithgar Series (Chronological), #13)

by Dennis L. McKiernan

Throughout the following years, Faeril continued to live in Arden, in the cote that she and Gwylly had shared. Her life, though not as long as those of other Warrows, was gentle and filled with love. And through the years as her long, dark hair slowly changed to blend with her silver lock, many friends came to visit with this golden-eyed damman, this last of the Lastborn Firstborns. She was eighty-eight that final summer’s eve, the eve of the autumnal equinox. And after the ceremonies in the glade, after the festivities in the Elven hall, after saying good night to one and all, she came back through the dark green pines and across the meadow to sit before the cote in the soft night, listening to the crickets, the stars wheeling above, the full platinum Moon overhead. And as the silvery Tumble gurged quietly in the gorge below, Faeril thought she heard a soft footstep and looked up to see— “Oh my buccaran, I knew you would come for me.” And she reached up and took his hand.