When the full light of the morning came no signs of the wolves were to be found, and they looked in vain for the bodies of the dead. No trace of the fight remained but the charred trees and the arrows of Legolas lying on the hill-top. All were undamaged save one of which only the point was left.I've been thinking of Tolkien coming up with all this fantasy, which was a really new thing for its time, in terms of story, structure, and complexity. For some reason I was particularly pondering it deeply, thinking of how in the world he came up with it all, when I read the above paragraph.
Somehow I could FEEL the age of legends stretching back to cold Northern halls.
Now, I felt foolish once that came to mind because I knew that. I'd read it time and again. But it was a more visceral connection this time. Not just intellectual. I really could feel it in my bones.