For all that the power and wealth of Arthedain flew from Fornost Erain, jewel of the North Downs, the heart of the nation had always been the Hills of Twilight (S. "Emyn Uial"). Here were hills of which the greatest poets sang, and the rippling waters whose sounds musicians attempted to match on their lyres and mandolins. It was an unproductive land by southern standards, where steep hillsides strained the knees of the shepherd, and narrow vales possessed soil too thin to forgive a farmer's careless seeding or over-sharp hoe. Every sheaf of grain and basket of apples, every rack of mutton and bundle of herbs was brought forth from the hill country by dint of hard, careful labor. Fields were surrounded by stone walls composed of rocks that once were strewn amongst the crops. Streams were da