#meet violent

The third time he runs the hunt, Mairon grows great curving horns for himself and plays as hunter, waiting for the second sounding of Valaróma to launch after his prey. 

In time the Ainur will come to make plans with their desired partners but it is still early days and disordered revelry. Even so, Mairon has designs on Eönwë, noting the proud maia has draped his wings in golden chains. With the rules against flight he will likely be an easier target and it would be a delight to defeat the herald of Manwë himself and claim his favour. 

Mairon has learned from his past experiences too; those who seek to chase Yavanna’s host will quickly find themselves on the back foot in her own forests. His first Feast of Horns is most memorable for that lesson. 

Oromë sounds his horn again and Mairon takes off with the other hunters, noting the many fire maiar that have chosen this side of the chase. All the better to disorient their quarry. They fly like sparks, blazing into the greenery. 

Mairon burns bright with power to close the gap with the hunted, seeking out pale feathers in the light- rippled undergrowth. 

His fellow hunters slip ever further from view, each of them finding their own path. Tilion glimmers under every patch of light, his horns adorned with great swirls of silver. With all his adornments he is as likely to be confused for the hunted as the hunter. Mairon smiles to think of the kind of trouble he will soon find himself in. 

He is among the hunted now and cries ring out as hiding places are discovered and the chase becomes more intimate, more personal. He cannot see Eönwë anywhere around.

Mairon races on through the forest, scanning for his particular prey. He comes suddenly from shade into the light. 

A clearing, bright sky under the Lamps. Mairon turns his face into the unfiltered light, basking for a moment. Eönwë too would likely gravitate to the open spaces like this, rather than skulk in the cover of the trees. 

Mairon pauses, knowing more than simple speed is needed now.