Dor-lómin was a country in the south-western part of Hithlum, bordered in the east by the Mountains of Mithrim, and in the north by the river which formed the Rainbow Cleft known as Annon-in-Gelydh, or “Gate of the Noldor”. It was the birthplace of Túrin son of Húrin and Morwen. There is also a mountain pass in its south unknown to the Enemy.
The sunlight was quickly fading away, and the scenery transformed into a vast greyness. A few leaves swirled in midair until they fell silently on the ground. The narrow path, with its twists and turns, was stretching far away like a snake Tuor looked at the snake and the stared at the distance, trying to spot any movements by the Enemy’s servants. But nobody was crossing that solitary land, as if they all wanted to avoid the coldness and the melancholy of the night that was about to come.
Tuor sighed. He could also feel the melancholy, the emptiness of the solitary life at the Caves of Androth. It could also be dangerous since the Easterlings and the orcs were searching for him because he was an escaped thrall. They had already paid a high price for that, though. He had killed many of his enemies, and now, they were afraid of him. But this could not go on forever.
Tuor had realised that it was time to forsake the land of his fathers and search for the Gate of the Noldor. Or maybe he would find Gondolin, if he was lucky. Those were his thoughts as the sky finally became purple, with the stars and the moon casting a weak land down on Beleriand. On the other hand, he was not sure that he would find Annon-in-Gelydh.
“I have been looking for the Gate of the Noldor for a long time now, but I have not found it yet. Will I ever know where it is? Will I ever find that place?” he wondered, feeling somewhat distressed. But a sudden noise made him turned his head around as he grasped his bow and arrow. “Show yourself! Who are you?” he shouted.