Unexpectedly turned into a cat, Kat falls into Middle-earth with the mission to prevent a death. In a feline form she can only communicate with the elf Legolas - and that he is such an attractive specimen is certainly not helpful...
A humorous (but...
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"And what would humans be without love?" RARE, said Death.
― Terry Pratchett, Sourcery
30. I See Dead People
Fine, white mist swirled before Nellas' eyes. Lying on her back in the boat, she regarded it calmly. Over there it looked almost like a leaf, and further away the fluffy fleece of a sheep. Was it like this to be inside a cloud? If she had been a bird, she would have loved to fly up there and check.
She pictured herself as an eagle, floating on straight wings in a spiral. Up, and up, and up she went.
A face blotted out her view of the cloud. Túrin! No. Boromir, she corrected herself. They looked so much alike it was sometimes hard to remember the first version had died.
Boromir's eyes looked like clouds too. Beautiful, gray rain clouds. She smiled at them.
He put his cool hand on her cheek, and his forehead furrowed. Then he uttered a very bad word.
She frowned slightly too, for now she felt the dull ache and stench from her wound, which mingled with the smell of rotten eggs from the foul water surrounding their vessel. She had managed to forget it until he reminded her.
Muttering under his breath about fog, lack of landmarks and Valarforsaken swamps, Boromir returned to his paddle. Nellas watched him for a while, trying to focus on how handsome he was and how happy she was that she had managed to save his life, but it was difficult when he scowled like that. Why must he be so angry and worried all the time? A bad mood would not help one bit.
She wished he could be chatty and smiling again, like when they first set out, back when their journey seemed easy and short. It had been sunshine, and as they paddled across the lake it reflected prettily on the surface. They had landed at the other side, and Boromir picked up the boat and said they would continue down a stair beside the big waterfall. Despite the discomfort she felt from her wound when walking, she had enjoyed that part immensely. It had been such a lovely forest there, with very polite oaks and a few proud old beeches, and she had also liked watching Boromir carry the boat on his wide, muscular shoulders while she listened to his tales of his home, the people there and all the adventures of his youth.
At the bottom of the stairs they came to Nindalf, a fen where many narrow channels were separated by tiny islands covered in grass, and sometimes short, crooked pine trees. Boromir had put the boat in one and said not to worry, because the marshland was connected to the river which would take them to his home in no time. All he had to do was paddle west.
That was before the mist arrived, of course, and before they discovered that the small islands seemed to have a life of their own. If they stopped for the night in an open channel, they would wake up in the morning to find it had suddenly become a dead end. With each passing day, Boromir's mood got darker and Nellas' wound more painful. The fens were a maze, and it had caught them in it.
