Arwen nodded in understanding. "They are a myth." Once more she felt the sadness of the passing of time, for the short memory of men and the things that would pass from all knowledge for them.
Rose's question disctracted her. Arwen walked toward the strange tree as she tried to think of what might qualify as 'annual' by human standards. "I suppose Men may. We elves do mark the passing of the seasons, the turning of the stars... and our begetting days," she shrugged. "But I do not think we have anything which would quite compare to these days of your kin... The packages are gifts, are they not? Do we know from whence they come?"