For too long had he roamed the forests alone, and so the Adan tarried there no further when he saw the smoke and flickering light of a campfire in the clearing up ahead. The smell of meat roasting over the open fire enticed his cantankerous belly into growling in hungry protest. He was in unfamiliar territory; the young human had never traveled alone so far from the comfortable, lush woodland area around his new home, for he had never been allowed to do so. Now, however, as he crept along the underbrush surreptitiously to draw closer to whomever had camped in the grassy area near the tree line, the Adan, who was fewer in years than some of the saplings against which he brushed as he cautiously crawled forward, could not suppress the sudden desire to have remained at home.

I cannot let them dissuade me, the human thought. If they had their way, I would be tied to a pillar in the courtyard where every Elf in Imladris could keep her eye on me.

His steps were abnormally light and his movement natural as he pushed past brambles and vines to crawl on his hands and knees. The short blade that was normally strapped to his waist he had tied tightly to his thigh so that it would not alert the wayfarer before him of the young human's approach. Although the traveler gave no indication that he was unfriendly, and despite the fact that the human was desperate for company, Estel would take any necessary precautions to ensure that he would return to his Elven home in one piece, if only because he was not willing to give Lord Elrond's twin sons the satisfaction of being proven right.

I am more than capable of spending a few weeks in the forest alone, he assured himself at the memory of Elrohir and Elladan's response to Estel's desire to trek the path to the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

It was not a particularly dangerous path; the way to the mountains was safe compared to the other paths Estel had considered traveling, paths that upon reflection, the human realized that neither the twins nor Lord Elrond would ever have allowed him to traverse. Elladan and Elrohir's utter lack of support for his adventure had only fomented his decision to escape their mothering attentions, and the human had pled with Lord Elrond to grant him permission to be on his own. He had tried to tell them that he was almost fifteen years of age; it had been a stretch of the truth, for he was only thirteen years, a fact Lord Elrond and his twin sons had well known, but his argument had not mattered, regardless. The stoic looks of wisdom borne from the many years the three Eldar had lived had smothered the young human's hope. He had nearly wept in frustration.

Life was not easy for a human living amongst Elves.

Estel came to an immediate stop when the definitive snap of a twig met his ears. Damn it, he cursed himself, realizing that it was he who had made the noise. You are being careless. His advance upon the traveler camped ahead had been slow, but he was now less than ten yards away from the campfire. Perhaps they have food to share, he hoped, breathing in deeply the succulent smell of freshly cooking meat. I am sick of dried venison.

The thought nearly drove him into running towards the traveler ahead of him, for he had not even jerky to eat now, and had not eaten anything substantial in four days. Elrohir and Elladan had taught him much about the forest but without them here to show Estel what was safe to eat, Estel had avoided eating anything but that which he knew to be comestible, and thus had only eaten a few blackberries that were ripe before their time. On many occasions over the last days, he had wished he had thought to bring his bow and arrows with him, but had not in his hasty flight and so did not even have the means to hunt small game.

Be still, you fool. If the twins ever found out what he was doing at that moment – that is, trying to sneak up on an unknown traveler in the hopes that said traveler would help him – they would no doubt have truly tied Estel to a pillar in Rivendell's courtyard.

Of course, they had not known he had left then, though they knew now and were likely searching for him with rope in hand, plotting the best knot to tie to keep him in Imladris. The young human had climbed down the balustrade of his balcony, along the trellis and down it. When his feet had hit the stone walkway beneath him, Estel had fled Imladris as if in fear for his life. He had taken no horse and left no note. Lord Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan would know where he had gone. His childish enthusiasm and confidence that he could make this journey alone had overwhelmed his better sense. He had run the whole night, not bothering to hide his tracks or ensure that the twins would not follow. The human had only hoped to reach the edge of Rivendell's borders before the angry Elven Lords caught up to him.

Eight days later, lost and hungry in the woods, Estel wished the twins had caught up to him.

He held his every muscle taut to remain completely still and as silent as he could while he waited for the hush of the traveler ahead to break. Faint humming began once again from the campsite. Estel breathed a quieted sigh of relief; the wayfarer had not heard him, or had dismissed the noise as a simple sound of the forest.

Thank Eru, the relieved human thought, and then wondered, Maybe this stranger can show me the way to the river.

All of Imladris' warriors would be out searching for him now, but if at all possible, the human wanted to return home without admitting complete defeat. He would need some good memories of his adventure to comfort him while he sat tied hand and foot to the pillar in the courtyard.

Inching forwards, the Adan peered over the tall grass in hopes of catching sight of the traveler, but did not dare look long. Quickly jerking his head down and his body back into a crouch, Estel considered, I would think that an Orc doesn't hum. This is either a man or an Elf. Although human himself, the young Adan would have preferred to find the latter sitting beside the fire, for an Elf would know how to get the Adan to Imladris. Sudden hope filled him. Perhaps it is one of the Imladrian warriors, he mused happily, springing spontaneously to his feet to see. Perhaps –

As rapidly as he stood, the fire was out, the clearing dark, and the human child shrank back from the sudden absence of sound and light around him. Estel's jaw hung agape and the air rushed from his juvenilely thin chest. Unthinkingly, he fell back to his hands and knees on the grassy earth, hiding his presence in belated instinct.

It is no warrior, he worried, pulling his gangly limbs back to him with a graceless, boisterous commotion of grass and breaking twigs. You idiot, he told himself. What were you thinking?

The hope of food and company and someone to guide him home became utmost fear. His mouth dried from hanging open for so long. Estel pulled his tongue free from the roof of his mouth where it was seemingly stuck. Licking his lips, the young human nearly began to run when the firelight resumed suddenly once more, but instead, the Adan pushed himself further into the soft ground, his ears attentive to the slightest noise that signaled the approach of the traveler.

Please let him be friendly, Estel prayed, feeling increasingly foolish at his exuberantly mislaid plans. Had he not been afraid to move, the human would have boxed his own ears. Not that it will save me the pleasure of having my ears boxed by the twins, he thought.

For many long, torturous moments, the human did not budge more than it took him to breathe. The firelight did not die out again but the soft, pleasant humming he had heard before did not restart. Wafting above him were the delicious smells of roasted rabbit and his belly growled again in its ravenous state. Maybe I have scared him more than he has scared me, he thought, realizing that it was very unlikely that anyone at the campsite could ever be as frightened as he was at that moment. Estel heard nothing except the crackling of roasted meat. He could nearly taste the gamey flesh that he could now only smell, so when his stomach's protest increased, Estel turned his nose into the heady smell of dirt under him. I will wait him out. He will leave in the morning.

Soon the sizzling meat began to scorch, emitting a furious smoke that rekindled the human's desire to approach the stranger. You are ruining your dinner, he scolded the traveler. And perhaps mine, if you would share it, he added. Staying close to the ground, the human attempted to crawl forward on the ground without creating a sound. The summer's grass whispered around him, the tangled undergrowth seemed to be rife with branches and rocks that clanged together with impossibly loud snaps and creaks, and the hoarse, seemingly thunderous sound of his breathing competed only with the steady thud of his wildly beating heart. Turn around and run, he told himself, pausing in his movements, but argued with himself, Surely if he means me harm, he would have done something by now.

Feeling ridiculous, the young human rose to his knees, and then to his feet before his courage gave out to his fearful need to flee. He expected the firelight to extinguish again immediately but it did not, and the human took the opportunity to survey the campsite.

It was abandoned.

No one sat at the fire and there was nothing to indicate that anyone had ever sat there, other than the burning rabbit meat spitted over the campfire. Striding to the blaze, Estel grabbed the spit and held it away from the flames. Looking fearfully around him, the human tried to penetrate the darkness with his gaze. The trees around him cast shadows so deep that he could not discern beyond the circle of firelight.

"Suilad," he called softly, uncertain whether he wanted the traveler to respond or not. I have scared him away, the human thought, but tried again, this time in the common tongue, "Hello?" Sitting beside the fire with a defeated sigh, Estel held the spitted meat in hand. The temptation of pulling free the traveler's supper from its thin wooden spit became too much.

"May I share your dinner?" he asked the empty clearing. Tossing the scrap of meat into his mouth and guilty that he had ruined his potential company's peaceful night and was now eating the traveler's meal, Estel added, "Thank you. I am famished. I have had no food for days." Chewing the charred but delicious meat, the human said again, this time in Sindar, "Hannon le."

Receiving no answer, the Adan continued speaking as he sated his appetite. Without his hunger to distract him, the human's fright returned, and so he merely spoke as if the traveler could hear him, though it was to hear himself speak that he bothered to do so.

"I am lost in the woods," Estel explained, sounding childish and petulant to his own ears. He shook his head, stuffing half the meat into his mouth and chewing quickly. "I am sorry to disturb you," he offered, driving one end of the spit between the rocks that had been built around the fire and leaving the rest of the rabbit for the traveler, should he return.

The need to flee overtook the young human again but he did not. Scooting closer to the comforting fire, Estel untied the short sword at his thigh and placed it on the ground beside him where he sat. Drawing his knees to his chest, the Adan folded his arms across them and rested his chin on his forearms.

Do not fall asleep, he chided himself, opening his eyes to stare into the firelight. Whoever's dinner you just ate may come back for it.

Knowing he should not sleep, that he should not stay, the weary and frightened child tried to keep slumber at bay. His aching limbs and full belly prompted him to give up: innocently, he hoped that the traveler would return. He wanted an adult with him, and his innocence led him to believe that any adult would be better than no adult at all. Besides, at this point, even the twins would suffice for company. The night air was not cold but the human wrapped his arms about himself tightly as he lay on the ground by the fire. His eyes slid shut, his hand searching in the grass automatically for the calming texture of the hilt of his short sword. Estel slept, unaware of the creature in the tree watching him.