================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:34 PM >
IC day is: Orgilion <Stars-day>
IC date is: 24 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: New <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Thu Oct 04 09:31:33 2007
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Forest's Edge
Here the outmost trees of the northern forest stand like old towers risen from the sea; long, green waves of grass lap and break upon their roots when the wind sweeps across the southern plains.

They are neither beech nor poplar, pine nor yew; the ancient oak, ash, and thorn-scrub scattered between them are dwarfed threefold by their size, tenfold by the dire majesty of their smooth, grey boles: northward a great wood looms, the whisper of its green and silver canopy an echo of the wonders that passed long ago from the circles of the world.

Contents:
Galharth
Rhibi
Mia
Aragorn
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The light of the moon reflects off the shimmering white snow that stretches out over the Long Plain to the south. With the added sparkle of the shining stars, the scenery is set in a soft blueish light that rivals the light of day. From the west blows a cool breeze down the moutain side, carrying a fresh scent and a sweet promise of coming spring. Unlike the city that lays to the northeast, this land is quiet as if waiting for something.

"Not the brightest thing I've done in my life," Mutters Galharth as he tracks through the woods, out into the open space at the forests edge. Pausing, he leans heavily upon his cane as he looks out over the land. Tufts of green and brown grasses peek out from the blanket of snow, breaking the purity of undisturbed snow. "It's..... beautiful." He says softly.

"See?" says a youthful voice, triumphantly, as its owner comes to a dancing halt beside Galharth. "I told you it would be!" Not far to the north, the snow lessens rapidly, until it is gone as if it has never been; but here... Rhibi inhales with delight.

Mia steps forward to stand next to the tailor, an eyebrow raised as she glances in his direction. "I don't know, this is probably one of the least dangerous things you have done in recent memory. We have an unobstructed view of our surroundings," she indicates the way to the south with a sweep of her arm, then cocks her elbow to point back over her shoulder, "and a nearby method of escape. And listen!" She leans almost comically with her hand cupped over her ear, eyes wide, "Not a sound! It's so quiet, I bet we could hear a squirrel in Fangorn break wind." She looks to Rhibi with a grin, as clearly the last comment was for his benefit.

But then, to bely her words there is the crunch of a boot from the south, light but there for a keen ear to detect, and as the sunlight fingers its way further into the treeline it meets with a cloaked figure. Strider steps forth from the forest's midst, tugging away his cowl and sparing a glance down to the young elf before all else. "I wager that troll could sneak up on you, young mellon," he declares in feigned severity.

"Still," Galharth says as he turns to Rhibi, "we didn't have to rush right out to see it. It will be here next year." Taking a deep breath, he releases slowly as he turns back to look at the sight to the south. "But I will admit it is worth seeing."

The corner of his mouth rises at Mia's first words, but he doesn't add comment. Closing his eyes to listen to the silence, her last words bring forth a burst of laughter. "He's right," The tailor says in agreement with Aragorn's comment, "especially if Mia continues to tell us her thoughts."

The boy laughs delightedly, the silvery sound making the plains not so quiet as Mia had suggested. "Let's listen," he whispers, and falls silent, leaning a little forward with an intent expression on his face. Until the faint sound of a boot on snow interrupts. "You ruined... He could not!" Rhibi finished indignantly, glaring up at the ranger. "Trolls are /very/ noisy!" A noise - the snap of a branch released from ice - whips his head around and he darts back into the trees, where the quiet sounds that emanate give warning of a large mound of snowballs.

Laughing freely at the antics of the boy, Mia counters Aragorn's logic with a shrug, "One need not rely on one's eyes or ears to tell if a troll is coming, as the stench announces their arrival hours before they actually get there. You have a decidedly non-trollish smell to you, though what you DO smell like... I will refrain from commenting on for fear of angering my Lady." She sighs as she inclines her head to the tailor, "And also because Galharth has requested that I keep my thoughts to myself. Which sounds quite dull."

Aragorn arches an eyebrow at this, and chuckles as he looks to Galharth. "I shall inform the others that their soaps are not to the fair elleth's liking. I had hoped to fit in, but perhaps I chose the wrong scent from the jars. No doubt once I hit the road again it shall fade, but until then I did hope to carry some of Lothlorien with me..."

Chuckling softly at Rhibi's actions, he turns to watch the lad run back towards the trees. Lifting his staff, he cleaves the bottom of the long length of wood through the snow, sending a spray of icy snow crystals towards the Lady's Companion. "You knew what I meant, Mia," The Tailor says as he shifts slightly as he brings the staff back down to provide support. "Squirrel's breaking wind? Or is it that you're focused upon smells this day? At least our friend here doesn't smell as that other fellow does." Glancing towards the Ranger, he smiles, "You don't smell all /that/ bad, mellon. You hold the favor of the Lord and Lady, and that alone puts you in sight for teasing from some...." he pauses to glance at Mia, before continuing, "....within the wood."

Mia bats her eyes demurely, her smile sweet and simple. "Silliness, Galharth, as you know I spare none in my quest for fun. Be they baker, warden or random traveler," she curtsies briefly to Aragorn, "All are likely targets if the mood should strike me."

She reaches into a fold of her dress and withdroaws a small, silken bag that rests in her palm. With her free hand, her fingers find their way within and seconds later emerge with a sprig of dried lavender. This she holds up between her fingers as she walks towards the man, a soft hum coming from nearly-closed lips. As she approaches, the dull purplish hue brightens, the soft green becomes more vibrant, and the area around her blooms with scent. Standing before Aragorn, she reaches up to hand the sprig to him. "From my own garden, tended with care by my hands: here is a piece of Lorien to carry with you on your travels."

The Dunadan smiles at this, bowing his raven head before the elleth, and takes the sprig with delicate fingers; something perhaps not expected judging by his rough, careworn demeanour. Slipping it through the cloth of his garments he seemed most pleased by the gift and bows anew.

"I thank you, my lady," says he, "and if I seemed not to take your words in jest then let me assure you I take your gift with whatever grace I yet have after my years of wandering. It shall serve as a sweet reminder of the Lady's gardens, until next I see them."

"Oh, I know," Galharth mutters softly with a note of fondness. Falling silent as Mia presents the herb, he smiles. "I suppose it doesn't hurt that the present has a pleasant fragrance."

Glancing now towards Aragorn, he lifts a brow. "You speak as if you plan to leave, or perhaps I read more into words than I should," The Tailor says as he hobbles a step closer to the elleth and the man.

"I hope that it will do much more than merely act as a reminder," Mia replies to the Ranger. "The gentle sweetness of its scent should mask your own, thus making you more difficult to track. Of course I know of your skills, and question not your ability to keep yourself hidden when necessary. Think of it as... a helping hand."

She turns slightly to Galharth and reaches out her hand to him, her eyes going first to his leg, then moving with concern to address him. But as her lips part to speak, he querries the Ranger. Silent for now, she watches the tailor with interest, her attention never wandering far from his noticeable disability.

Favouring Mia with a fresh smile of gratitude, the man looks then to Galharth, and nods sadly to the tailor. "Alas, yes, mellon, I must away. The paths I have yet to walk are many, and they will not be set aside, even for all the joy I might find in staying. The road calls me to wander its lengths anew. Perhaps one day, should our hopes be realised, I can linger as long as I wish with you and your kin. But that time has not yet come."

The Gardener's gaze goes unnoticed, at least for a moment. "I see," Galharth replies to Aragorn in an even tone, revealing nothing but an acknowledgement of the man's words. "And the other of your kin who now visit our land? And where might you go?" Clearly, there is curiosity, mingled in with some disappointment creeping into the Tailor's words, and yet he lifts a hand to starve off comment. "Nay, forgive me. I know you not well enough to ask business that is clearly your own." Taking steps as if to follow Rhibi into the woods, he stops and peers at the human. "I've not gotten to know you well during your stay, but I think I shall miss you anyway."

"The joy of saying whatever comes to mind is that you are released from the bonds of decorum." Mia looks to the Ranger with eyebrows slightly raised, "What draws you away from us, when you only just arrived? So few of our people venture out beyond the woods these days that the news is sometimes hard to come by, you cannot leave us without telling some of what you have seen or hope to see soon."

"Alas," answers Aragorn to the Firstborn, "I have borders to guard other than the fair fences of the Golden Wood. My homeland needs it's guardians, and while my kin toil ever to meet that need it often grieves me that I am not with them. Even so, I shall not make straight for Imladris or the realm of my fathers of old. I make for the Riddermark, to travel the plains of Rohan and learn what news I may. It seems," he adds grimly, "as though every land now has a tale to tell of evil at its doorstep. My duty bids me hear them all."

"If you do half as much as you have here, they will, I'm sure, be glad to have you," The Tailor says with a glance to the south. His gaze grows distant for a moment, before he suddenly shakes his head. "Alas, who am I to speak such things. I've met few from that land, and even so I could not speak with them for I had yet to learn enough common to do more than make them laugh." Pausing he flashes a quick glance towards Mia with narrowed eyes, "Which reminds me that I have to thank someone for my first few words learned."

Mia looks to the woods, a small v forming between her eyes. "He's been quiet for too long..." she says to nobody in particular, ignoring Galharth's pointed remark. "Much too quiet, it makes me nervous." She takes a few steps towards the trees and calls softly, "Rhibi? Rhibi!" She looks to Galharth, "Surely he can't have gone far? And he's learned about sneaking off, hasn't he?" Without waiting for a reply, she melds with the edges of the shadows and disappears into the forest.

Tilting his head at Aragorn, Galharth frowns. "I'm not quite sure what they said to be honest. They certainly didn't take well towards my attempt to hide in the grass as they passed, and the smell of horse and man only added to a most confusing moment." Shrugging one shoulder, he turns to watch Mia. "He's likely hiding!" the Tailor calls out. "His pride was likely wounded at the suggestion that a Troll could sneak up on him and now he's showing us how stealthy he can be."

With a chuckle, Aragorn casts his gaze into the trees also and nods. "He will hardly be the worse for practise. And, if ever he is to make good on his promise to me, he will need all the stealth he can find."

"Yes," comes the disembodied voice of the elleth, "But this boy has a habit of disappearing to places like Fangorn... Dale... Imladris. If it is stealth you want, you have chosen wisely, for none is sneakier than Rhibi!"

Lifting a chin, Galharth adds to Mia's list, "Rohan and Isengard as well." Shaking his head, he chuckles softly. "He's got his mind set that he's going to visit Imladhrim soon. It surprises me that he's not started off on his own already." Turning to Aragorn, his smile faulters. "Be wary when you leave, for young Rhibi has a way of following others. He did so with Annaiel and found his great foe, the Troll Grot."

Aragorn laughs at this, but his mirth does not last long. "Aye, and much woe was wrought from that meeting. I shall watch the paths behind me as I leave, and bid my companions do the same. Fear not... unless the young ellon has skills greater than Glorfindel himself, I shall know if he follows us, and will escort him home."

"He thinks as much, he often finds himself teaching me, and I fear my eagerness to learn only swells his ego." Looking down at the snow for a moment, Galharth chuckles softly. "Funny as it might sound, I would follow you as well as the people down there are a curious lot, but then..." Pausing to tap his leg he smiles, "I think you'd hear me coming quite a ways off."

"It would be a welcome clamour, if such a word can ever be placed upon the deeds of the Eldar." The Dunadan smiles then, some of his hardness melting if only for the moment. "But I do not think you would enjoy the trails I must walk. Perhaps, if you venture to Imladris at some point, we may walk together, and learn of each other as we have not had chance to here."

"As a Tailor, many assumptions are made of what I might like, but in the past years time, I find that I even surprise my own assumptions. No matter, it was only a thought." Galharth says with a shake of his head. "I've had a number of people tell me lately that I need to look into less things than I do now. I should listen."

Looking up at the man, the Crafter nods. "Indeed, perhaps we will meet again, if not here, than in Imladhris. I hear they have a nice selection of findings for my trade."

"I shall be glad to search with you," smiles the man, ere he reaches up to tug forward his cowl. "I shall leave you be, mellon, and resume my patrol. It may well be my last, and I would not have it said that the son of Arathorn leaves his tasks undone. If I see you not at Caras Galadhon ere I depart, then I shall look for you in the House of Elrond. Fare thee well."

And with that the cloaked figure of Strider slips into the trees once more; even the light crunch of his steps fading without a trace.