================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Mid Morning < About 9:16 AM >
IC day is: Orgilion <Stars-day>
IC date is: 28 Ethuil <Spring>
Moon phase: Waxing Crescent <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 18 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3042>
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RL time: Wed Oct 24 13:05:41 2007
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Sacred Grove

Standing atop a hill in this tranquil glade are two magnificent trees, both resembling the surrounding mellyrn, but each distinctly different. The first is completely silver in color, glowing bark and leaves both. Its twin, likewise, is entirely a golden color, including its shimmering bark, and when touched by the sun it illuminates the entire area with soft golden light. Clusters of small cairns rest at the base of the trees that encircle the meadow. An aura of overwhelming peace and tranquility emanates throughout the Sacred Grove; so much so that even the song of the birds that dwell here is subtle and languid.

Contents:
Galharth
Turwaithiel
Thorhur
Calriel
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The light of midmorning dances between the branches of the trees sheltering the glade. Gold of the leaves above cast a delicate aura over the ground as a gentle breeze stirs up the leaves laying upon the ground. Songs, sung somewhere in the city mingles with the delicate chirps of wild birds that flutter high above. As with so many days, the sights and sounds add to the peaceful setting of this sacred grove.

Wandering in from the Golden Roadway, the Tailor Galharth draws in a deep breath as he softly rustles through the carpet of golden leaves. Releasing the breath slowly, he slows his step to enjoy the sights offered.

Turwaithiel jerked her head up quickly shaken out of her thoughts by the approach of another. She had been enjoying a breif break from the day but it was only a matter of time before some one else where to happen. She watched him aprroach for a few moments more before speaking. "Excuse me I didn't see anyone else here."

The grove suddenly echoes with the sound of soft humming. It is a delicate voice humming a song of its own design, elaborating on it as it progresses. For a few moments the owner of the voice is unknown, until from the edge of the grove a tall figure appears. His smile is small and his steps are small. However, his eyes are upon the Craftsmater and the elleth. Approaching the two slowly, he ends his song before raising a hand in greeting and saying in an enlightened tone, "Spring has come not a moment too soon. Wouldn't you agree Galharth? Everything is blooming and life is stirring. A pleasant change from the troubles of the Winter."

With his eyes now coming in to focus on the elleth he smiles in greeting and says, "Forgive me elleth. I did not even notice you. Well met. I am Thorhur."

Turwaithiel gave a nod at the new commer. "It is nothing I am Tirwaithiel. You are right about the spring though. It has been winter long enough I think."

Galharth's gaze touches upon the light haired elleth just as she speaks. His brows lift in surprise and he takes a step closer, making a shifting sound in the leaves with his staff as he moves. "Forgive me, for it is I who've interrupted you're breath this morn." Narrowing his eyes sligthly, he peers intently at the edhel. "You look familiar, and yet, I know not your name." Pausing he bows his head and looks up again, "I am Galharth,"

Nodding to the introduction, the Crafter turns towards the sound of humming, "Well met, Thorhur." To his question, he shrugs his shoulders. "Time can delay further, for each season is to be cherished. While spring is my favorite, I find something exoticly interesting about winter."

Turwaithiel looks to the sounds as another calls attention to himself. "As I have said it nothing. If I truely wished to be alone I would have fond as place where it could be. The winter may be well and fine for a time but by the end I find myself looking forward to the spring. I am Turwaithiel."

Thorhur smiles. "The spring, such a time of rejuvination, has a magic all its own." after a brief pause in which his eyes wander towards the tops of the mellyrn, his demeanor becomes more relaxed as he sits on the grass. "There is nothing better than to escape the wear and tear of the day and to come sit under the mellyrn. I trust you both fare well this day?"

"Is indeed well, and growing better with each passing day." Galharth says with a smile. Glancing from elleth to ellon, he lifts his chin slightly as his gaze rests upon Turwaithiel. "With company comes opportunity to appreciate the sights and sounds." Lifting his head higher, he turns his head to catch the distant song. "Truely, the songs of the Bards seem to sound so much sweeter when shared."

Turwaithiel shifts into a more comfortable sitting postion. "I am quiet well. Indeed they do, but they sound sweet any day. On a lovely day like this one though they sound all the better. Some would say that perhaps they sound their best on darker say*days I think there is some truth in both."

"Indeed," Thorhur replies to Galharth with a smile, "Many of the Glirdain welcome spring with songs of beauty, and many of the most beautiful of these are in the tongue of the Silvan Elves, who sang them once in ages past in the lush green woods of Ossiriand." The Student's eyes sparkle as if they seem are pools under the light of the Moon. Adjusting his cloak he bows his head and says in a softer tone, "You speak some truth elleth. While we have songs for all occasions one can sometimes not resist to sing a song of joy in a time of sorrow, or hear a minstrelsy of sorrows past in times of joy. Song is purely from the heart. If you do not put what you truly feel into song that you are not truly singing."

"I do not doubt you, Thorhur." Galharth replies to the first of the words spoken by the Sentinel. Falling silent for a moment as he addresses the elleth, a smile grows more visible upon his lips. "Songs from the heart, now that is a matter for which I know well, for the crafters songs bring forth much into the articles crafted. To look upon, touch, or even wear, something elven crafted, you can often feel the joy of creation poured forth into the item made."

Turwaithiel nods. "That is true enough. For if you do not pour your heart into what you are creating there is no reason for you to create something it will just be a thing, If you have passion while making it, it will be more than a mere thing it will be a reflection of who made it."

"I have often felt something of that sort when I practiced with swords or held a shield made by our Crafters." Thorhur's smile has now returned, and his eyes turn from Galharth to Turwaithiel, coming to rest at a point between the two. "I do not doubt that if you are passionate with what you create it will reflect its maker. It is reminiscent of the sword used by Beleg, the friend of Turin. His sword had no master and would be just as willing to kill the one who wielded it as it would to kill its wielder's foes. The maker of that sword clearly put passion into it, though whether his intentions were good remains to be seen." Thorhur winks and then begins to blow on a piece of glass, much like a flute.

Drawing one hand away from his staff, Galharth forms a fist and shakes it once with enthusiasm. "Exactly!" the Crafter says as he looks upon the elleth. His hand opens and he sweeps his hand off to the side. "All that we envision in the midst of crafting, all that we see in the materials and the form in which those materials take, comes forth in song or tone." Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he seems pleased that someone understands, "It is most satisfying."

Glancing towards Thorhur, a shadow takes hold of the crafters expression, and his smile fades. "The desire to create beauty and perfection is great. It is indeed a great passion. That I can not argue." He pauses a moment and seems to consider something.

Turwaithielcan not not help but smile at that reaction. She had no ideal that it was that wonderfull of an idea. "Ah, but the ideal of prefection is tricky as well. What is prefect for the one who makes it may not be so for the one who asked it to be made. There for one must strive to make the prefect thing knowing they can never do it. Such knowledge has destroyed more than one crafter I am sure."

Thorhur stands and grins to the elleth. "Your words are true mellon. I do not doubt that someday you will create great things of your own. However, I have tarried and I must attend to business in other parts of the Wood today. So, until later. Farewell Galharth. Goodbye Turwaithiel." with a small wave Thorhur turns, and with a slightly faster pace he exits the Sacred Grove much more silently than he entered.

"Bite your tongue Turwaithiel!" Galharth says, either in teasing or in earnest. "Perfection can indeed be obtained. It has been done, and remains a goal." The frown fades, and the corner of the Tailor's mouth rises slightly. "Perfection is defined by many in many different ways. It is found more often by the recipient of the item crafted, than the one who crafted it. To sit in a chair, and in doing so you find comfort, or if wearing a gown that highlights all the most desirable assets, " He asks, as if bringing forth a debate.

Turning, Galharth lifts a hand to acknowledge the ellon's departure. "Be well, mellon." he says as the Sentinel retreats from the grove.

Turwaithiel nods. "Tue but you can not define prefection by the view of one alone. To another the chair could be horribly hard or the gown simply something they chose to wear that day. To find something of universal prefection would be like trying to catch a single snow flake and keep it. A wonderful thought but one that could never happen even if some one tried for it for many many years."

"Difficult perhaps, for once captured a thing of beauty might faulter and fade, making it seem as if the achievement of perfection is impossible," Galharth says with a coy tone as he takes a step to stand in the light of day cascading down through the branches above. "Any more impossible than capturing the light of the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, before their destruction?" Turning his face upwards towards the sky, the crafter closes his eyes as the light warms his face. "Perhaps it is not that perfection is out of reach, but maybe we hesitate to create it so to prevent an overwhelming desire to possess that perfection."

Lowering his gaze, the Tailor looks to Turwaithiel. "It is something to think about, is it not?"

Turwaithiel truns her haed slightly to the side as she thinks about this. "True for if some one where to get that one thing they wanted. What then? After they had it there would be nothing to strive for. They may well place it on a shelf and tire of it after a while. They might well forget the reason they wanted it so in the first place and go looking for something else to fulfill their need for prefection. Is this not so?"

"That I think is a personal question, for is it not similar to our desire to preserve our world unchanged so that we might forever cherish both nature and all that we've created?" Galharth says with a grin. "Certainly we could debate this for thousands of years." Tilting his head he peers at the elleth with interest. "Tell me Turwaithiel, you speak as a member of the Royal Court, and yet you seem to have a great understanding of the principals of crafting." The Tailor says softly, "I know you not to be within the Crafting Guild, so I am left wondering, where lies your interests?"

Turwaithiel climbs to her feet. She smiles inspite of herself. "We could indeed. And many other things as well I think. As far as my interests, well I am interested in a great many things. I prefer to see what the day will bring. But alas I must take my leave, there many things to still be done this day."