Some things one does by rote. [she says, seemingly apologetic–but about drinking the water not her lack of desire to carry on, offering it back immediately. Normally she might have cared about sounding careless or rude but she cannot bring herself to at the moment. She can barely bring herself to feel anything at all. It is as though she is floating in that salty water along with her well-loved trees, her home and childhood home drowning up to their necks in it as she too is drowning in spirit if not reality.] I think I have lost The Song, or elsewise never knew it like I thought I did.

[The Song is clearly something to her, not a metaphor or poetic licence. Something she expects this mortal to understand, though the secondborn do not have as detailed stories as the elves do on such things it was still a young enough world that they had not yet forgotten. Watching that finger almost makes Mithiel cross-eyed before she looks at the stranger again.]

It will not be safe after dark, the Host did not root out all of Morgoth's creatures and now they roam freely without a master to temper them. You should go. Thank you, though.