By dawn she was surely far enough away. No feeling of slow time and deep peace, that she thought the normal state of Arda, to thwart her here.

Arwen reached out into the land. The field lay expectant, but in the grip of winter still. Hoarfrost tingled, slick and cool under bare toes. A deep breath. Dancing across the field, she poured her heart and will into a song of spring. Expecting a riot of growth, she turned to mark her path, seeing only a faint trace where the ice had melted under her lightly passing steps.

Image. Not substance.

The Lay of Lúthien

And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet,