I have been too long alone, Boromir thought as he surveyed the empty forest undecided about his course for the day. He missed even his horse’s company. Since that evil river crossing, he had had nothing to talk to. Sufficient, he’d thought himself, inured to hardships. In this curséd autumn wilderness, he had not seen so much as a plume of smoke or desolate farm. Feeling eyes upon him, he whirled, but again saw only nearly leafless branches swaying in the breeze. Imladris. Fool’s errand. Better Faramir had come. Where to? Soon, he would be loudly answering himself.

The Ranger acts lost. Rumour ran thru the valley and within hours the stranger was being closely shadowed as he wandered through the woods near Rivendell to see what he might portend. He looked like a Ranger - tall, dark-haired, bright flashing eyes - save his strangely fashioned clothes. No Ranger behaved like this one. Each day he set a new course and followed it doggedly, silently, stopping only to forage for food or hunt. Each evening he sat silent around his fire. If he seeks the hidden path, why does he not call out now that he is in elvish woods?