Disclaimer: Tolkien, all of it’s his; this is just happenstance.
The Sea Yearning came on him swiftly. Removing soft leather boots he relished the interplay of salt-water and sand underfoot. Looking back, no indent marked his passing.
Is this our fate? To feel, and know, but leave without a trace?
The trees of his Greenwood had often sung to him a different song than for his kin. Now he recognised the rhythm and would ever feel it throb in his blood. He found a shell, blue-green, fruit of the sea. Threading it on a mithril chain, it floated at his throat thereafter; an iridescent remembrance of a different melody.