The time had officially come to New Year's Day in the year 2946 of the Third Age, or January in the Númenórean Calendar.
Even though the coldest part of the year had passed, warmth had not returned to every part of the upper Anduin River valley. The bitter cold that had raged for two whole months still held sway north of the Golden Iris River, but it went no farther.
After passing the stretch of river that had once claimed the life of the Númenórean High King, the thousands of cavalry who had set out from Wilderness Town truly entered the wilderness.
The villagers of Eowya had only extended the road this far. Beyond it lay plains where greenery was beginning to emerge, and scattered groves preparing to put out new shoots.
Unlike the seemingly endless Mirkwood in the distance, these groves were like jewels scattered across the wilderness, beginning, little by little, to shine with their own emerald light in this season.
Yet none of this could compare with Lothlórien, where flowers bloomed throughout the year. Standing on the southern bank of the Anduin River, Allen could just make out Cerin Amroth through the Monocular in his hand.
It was an ancient hill that gave off a faint golden glow, cast by the blossoms of the Mallorn trees. Amroth, the former elven king of Lothlórien, had once lived there.
Closer to Allen, in fact, was Caras Galadhon, where Lady Galadriel lived. It stood on the western bank of the Anduin River, but Allen restrained his curiosity and did not peer into this city of the Galadhrim.
Allen really did not dare gamble on whether Lady Galadriel, with her many powers, could sense his gaze. Besides, it would have been impolite. Cerin Amroth was another matter; few elves had lived