The Smith bound us in crystal, in adamant, in iron. Where once we were the living expression of Yavanna's exultation, of Nienna's sorrow, light that blossomed forth in the morning of the world, now we were but shards and shadows of that life, prisoned fast.
But for all the Smith's art, his craft and cunning, his strength could not keep us. A greater darkness stole us, setting us to blaze out in agony and anger in foul iron depths, pinned fast to his crowning cruelty.
Yet we shine still, however diminished, however remote.
And both our tormenters are no more.