There's a song that she might here, eventually. A tune so soft it blends into the sound of the wind and the trees, the song of said wind, perhaps. It drifts like the wind itself, making it difficult to pinpoint, but if she persists in following it, it will lead eventually to a tall Noldo, sitting against the trees with a harp in his hands, singing soft and sweet and sad, the Star of Feanor glinting in warning on his chest.