Beyond the Western Shore by StarSpray

Most of the journeys Minyelmë had undertaken in Aman since she'd emerged from Mandos had not been hard. There were many well-trod paths through the woods and hills, whether by Elves or animals or by the Powers for reasons of their own. But in the western regions the land was rougher and less traveled; no Elves lived there, and and there were many creatures strange and wild, and it was said by some that even the trees moved about and sang to one another in strange tongues. The wind blew from the west across hard rocks and wide moorlands, colder than the breezes that came off of Eldamar, and tasting of salt.

Minyelmë climbed a steep and stony hill, reaching the top with burning thighs and streaks of blood on her palms from when she'd slipped and caught herself on a one of the small, tough, thorny shrubs that dotted the hillside. As she straightened the wind picked up, blowing her hair back from her face and cutting through her clothes with a surprising chill. But she scarcely noticed as she drank in the sight before her. The hill sloped down, as steep on the western side as it was on the east, and beyond it lay a wide stretch of moorland filled with heather, all in shades of pink and purple and shadowed by the hills. Little Treelight found its way to these shores. Beyond the moors were dunes and beyond the dunes stretched a dark sea beneath cloud-streaked starry skies. It was strange and wild and breathtaking, and Minyelmë laughed aloud, startling a flock of birds into flight. They whirled up from the heather, circling around Minyelmë for a moment before hurtling off southward along the coast.

The water, when Minyelmë reached it at last, was frigid. The beach was not sandy but pebbled, the stones all worn round and smooth as glass. She pocketed a few, for they were not like any other stones she had seen before. There were also shells—many of familiar shapes, but there were some also of strange spiraling forms that shimmered in her palm, the colors matching the shades of the heather behind her, but mingling with silver and streaks of red. And as the wind shifted she could hear voices in it, distant and singing strange and haunting songs. She stood for a long time as the tides changed and the pale light behind her shifted from gold to silver.

Far in the distance clouds gathered and parted and gathered again; it was impossible to tell if there was rain. Beyond them, Minyelmë knew, somewhere, lay the very Edge of the World, and the Doors of Night that opened into the Void. The idea made her shiver, and she turned away. She was glad to have come, to have seen Ekkaia—but it was not a place to linger.

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