The Elves watched her with sadness, and curiosity. How queer, thought they, that she is dying. That while we watch her her time on Arda is endlessly pouring away like the sand in an hour-glass. Always at the same speed, always a constant rush. Never letting up. For as soon as they breath their first, they begin to die...these mortals.

Of course, those in Imladris were somewhat accuainted with the second born, but there was something about Gilraen that caught them. The slow way her eyes would light up, and this feature would be particulary noticeable...perhaps for the first time to some...and they who beheld it would see for the first time that this is what harboured her mystery. Her wolf like eyes. Piercing and keen, light filled and fluid like amber.

The last rays of day gleamed softly on her hair--a cascade of rare and exotic fabricated spices, it swished behind her like a dancer's skirt as it tumbled down in a flutter of cinnamon and ebony and copper. She held herself with such grace, none would guess she was not an fey. She walked amidst the gardens of Imladris...the plants that were frozen in their burning. Perhaps it was the wind, but with her steady, graceful gait and gentle, loving touch, the plants seemed to respond and lean to her.

Her life was a great wheel of sadness and beauty, swirling in an endless stream of light and color, with cloud and shade to sharply contrast it. Her words were those of one who is wintered into wisdom, her voice low and mealodious, like it rose from behind a waterfall. Never have I seen the likes in another living thing.

And then there came a day when the dawn washed on her pallid skin and lidded eyes, as it had a thousand times before. Those who loved her gentley shook her, whispered, called her name, but she did not get up. Her eyes did not flutter to reveal the glitter of gold beneath the long lashes. And her beauty and grace left the world. We immortal stared on with wonder; for she was here in an instant and gone in a flash, like the tide, like the dawn. And never again was her lith figure seen rose stained, fading into the distance in the valley as long as the world lasted.