Dejando atrás el camino brumoso y abrupto que atraviesa las rocas
colosales de las Montañas Grises de Rovanion hacia el sur, el paisaje irreal y maravilloso
del Bosque Negro - tierra de árboles milenarios que se pierden en el horizonte
– deja paso al sinuoso sendero que bordea el río, allí donde nace el país de
los Elfos y que ha sido transitado durante siglos por príncipes y vasallos de
toda la Tierra Media en búsqueda de las anheladas fuentes y de su canto vigoroso e inmortal. 
Leaving
behind the foggy and abrupt way that crosses the colossal rocks of the Grey Mountains
of Rovanion towards the south, the
unreal and wonderful landscape of the Black Forest - land of ancient trees that
are lost on the horizon - gives way to the winding trail that runs along the
river, there where the country of Elven is born, and that has been travelled
for centuries by princes and vassals of all the Middle-Earth in pursuit of the cherished
sources and its vigorous and immortal song.
There, kings and queens, princesses and princes have exposed their crowns, and often their heads, to the mysterious enchantment of these waters that have drunk the young and the old ones, nobles and commoners since immemorial times, hoping to curb the advance of the times, unaware that - occasionally and unpredictably - the destiny often bring surprises in the depth of those waters rather than the much desired immortality...
There, kings and queens, princesses and princes have exposed their crowns, and often their heads, to the mysterious enchantment of these waters that have drunk the young and the old ones, nobles and commoners since immemorial times, hoping to curb the advance of the times, unaware that - occasionally and unpredictably - the destiny often bring surprises in the depth of those waters rather than the much desired immortality...
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