Watches lengthen with the nights and are doubled as well. Firith is the most dangerous season, bringing darkness to hide the Deceiver's creatures but no snow yet to hinder them.

Still, Mevenneth finds a secret pleasure in this time of year, and the damp, sour smell of beech leaves underfoot. It is cold at night now; cold enough that she shares a blanket--and other comforts--with Beredur. In the morning their pail of water is webbed over by ice.

The thin sickle of autumn's last moon hangs ready to reap the year's turning. Mevenneth watches it pass and sings.

[for fileg, a thank-you for her Hallowe'en present]