Faramir stood upon the jagged cliffs that crowned the hidden refuge of Henneth Annûn, the secret pool and waterfall tumbling softly below. Dawn’s pale light scattered across the wet stone and moss, painting the hidden glade in silver and green. His grey-green eyes gazed westward, lost in thought, the echo of the last nights’ dreams still lingering in his mind. In those dreams, Boromir floated pale and silent in a narrow boat on the Anduin, carried downstream, unreachable, a vision that left a tight knot of worry in Faramir’s chest.

He did not know if it was a warning, a mere vision, or some shadow of premonition. Boromir had always been strong, always fearless, and honorable beyond measure, yet the image of him drifting away, quiet and motionless, refused to leave Faramir’s mind. The uncertainty gnawed at him, threads of fear entwining with the steady discipline he had cultivated as a captain of Gondor’s rangers. He could not yet name it sorrow, for he did not know the truth, but the weight of concern was no less pressing.

Beneath him, the pool mirrored the pale light of morning, disturbed only by the soft hiss of falling water. Mist drifted lazily over the surface, curling around stones and moss, and for a moment the world seemed still. Faramir let his gaze wander to the edges of the glade, where the last trees of Ithilien stood like silent witnesses to a fading past. The wind whispered through the branches, carrying faint echoes of days long gone. Memories lingered in the rustle of leaves and the play of light on the forest floor, reminders of a land once fuller, now quietly slipping away. Even here, he felt the gentle weight of the past pressing against the present, mingling with the subtle stirrings in the east.

The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and distant leaves. Faramir drew his hood over his head and began his careful descent from the cliffs toward the pool, boots soundless on the wet stone. Each step was deliberate, cautious. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, not yet needing it, but acknowledging the vigilance demanded in these days.

As he neared the base of the cliffs, a faint movement among the trees to the east caught his eye, subtle, deliberate, almost imperceptible. He paused, breath held, senses sharpened. The waterfall’s hiss mingled with the soft rustle of leaves, and the pool beneath reflected the morning light in fractured glimmers. Faramir’s thoughts drifted again to his brother, and yet he forced himself to focus, to measure the stirrings of the woods with the same care he had learned from years as a ranger.

Step by careful step, he descended closer to the forest floor, the hood shading his face, the cloak brushing damp stone, eyes alert to every shadow, every shifting leaf. The hidden refuge of Henneth Annûn stood in quiet witness to him, the waterfall, the pool, and the cliffs marking the rangers’ silent vigilance. Somewhere, among the trees, something was moving, and Faramir’s eyes narrowed. Whoever it was, venturing near the sacred pool, they were breaking the laws of Gondor. Steeling himself, he descended with measured steps, every sense alert, resolved to confront the intruder and see what threat dared trespass in Henneth Annûn.