Fangorn chuckles darkly to himself, drawing up a chair and straddling it to face us, jerking his chin to the direction of the box, and the golden bracelet glimmering between my fingers, dulled under the permanent darkness of the end. I think to myself that in the sunlight, a piece of finery such as this would look dazzling- its beauty has been utterly wasted these long centuries in the end, tucked away in the small ornate box longer than I have walked this earth. I smile sadly, looking up to Fangorn, searching for answers.
And answers he does give.
