Chapter VIII: SIGNS TELL OF THE TIMESThe black iron gates rose up before them, almost as tall as the Dwarves' mountain and nearly as beautiful. Scrolled and twisting, almost delicate in their impassability, they commanded those who came to them not only to stop, but to stare and admire.
Witon gave their names to one of the guards, along with his request to meet with the Elvin lord. As the soldier trundled off, running up the long, winding pathway—a swath of grayish pink pebbles through a kaleidoscope green forest—Witon and Persky sat atop their mounts and waited.
The guard returned, the gates opened as eight Elves pushed them, four to each side, and Witon's breath quivered in his chest.
He turned to his stalwart companion—a greater one no Man had ever been blessed to have beside him. “T
