by Street Howitzer
It was winter in Ithilien, and still, it was too warm to snow. The air was chilled, more sharply edged, and when the Sun rose in the early morning, each blade of glass and tree-twig glittered with a crusting of frost. This melted within two hours of Sunrise, leaving the landscape damp and muddy, bereft of any color but indistinct browns and greens. Snow did bury the nearby Mountains of Shadows, making them look less like a mountain range and more like a collection of glaciers. The Elves generally thought their new abode was the least pleasant during the winter-time. Their memories recalled the ever-blooming forests of Lothlórien, and judged Ithilien the poorer by comparison.
Winter was a strange time. The Mountains seemed closer, and served as a silent reminder of what and Who once dwelt beyond them. The winds from the Sea were strong and cold, scenting every breath with salt and driving more than one Elf to drift to the Havens. And in winter, the Lor