================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 11:38 PM >
IC day is: Orithil <Moon-day>
IC date is: 31 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Full <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
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RL time: Fri May 11 16:52:58 2007
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Garden of the Silver Lights

You stand in the middle of a luscious garden filled with all colors and varieties of plants and flowers, whose sweet scent
permeates the air. There are many hummingbirds here flying among the bushes, and even a few scarlet kirinki -- tiny Eressean
finches with high piping voices -- are fluttering here and there among the flowers. The garden is walled, for the most part,
by a tall green hedge; a number of tall, sturdy wooden trellises on which grow a type of vine adorned with large white
flowers encloses the rest.

No trees grow here, and lanterns of different sizes and shapes hang from cunningly wrought sconces, their serene silver
light giving a calm peace to the garden, illuminating the small benches that are set amongst the flowerbeds. To the west,
grassy steps lead up the silver gates which provide the only obvious exit from the garden. There is a small brook here
flowing down from the fountain at the top of the hill, and then running along the curve of the hill and disappearing into a
deep green hollow to the east. A long flight of steps leads downward.

Participants:
Galharth
Maglind
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The evening stars shine brightly in an inky black sky. A winter breeze blow, carrying with it an occasional whisp of snow
clouds sailing through the stary background. The air is cool, but strangely warmer than expected for the time of year.
Within the Garden of Silver Lights, a flickering show of dancing lights do not disappoint the few who wander about.

Entering the Garden, Galharth wanders slowly, enjoying the sights and isolation found within the grounds. Finding a
comfortable spot near the small brook, he sits to watch the water.

Not too far away, a tune played on harp-strings weaves through the crisp air. Quick as the flutter of bird-wings, sweet like
the thrill of bird-song, its origin is hidden.

Sighing softly to the sound of a harp being played, the clothier closes his eyes a moment to enjoy the tune. After a moment,
his head turns and he searches for the source of the music. "Hello?" he calls out softly.

"Hello," echoes the harpist quickly, stopping the strings with an awkward sound. Moments later, soft steps are heard, and
Maglind's pale head peeps over a bush. "Please, don't mind me. I was just practicing."

Catching sight of the Warden, a warm smile lights upon the clothier's lips. "Well met, Maglind." Galharth says as he rises
to his feet. Working is way around the bush, he finds another spot to sit and relax. "Please continue for some of us are
enjoying your practice. Have you played the Harp long?"

"Since I learned to steal into my mother's room," chuckles Maglind, bringing the small harp around with a grinding noise.
The tune resumes, plucked by long, slender fingers: "I see you have been released."

"Then you, like the Learner we spoke with in the Rose Garden the other day, are a Bard." Galharth says with a smile. "Had I
know, I'd have asked you to compose the song of bravery."

"You play well," the clothier adds as he settles back to listen.

Maglind smiles, and straightens his back just a little. "There are better. And I am one in name."

"Do you play any instrument other than the loom, Galharth?"

"Perhaps you should join the Guild, if only to obtain a teacher." Galharth suggests.

With the Warden's last question, the clothier laughs as deeply as his ribs allow. "No instrument do I play, but I certainly
run my mouth enough to qualify as a noise maker."

He laughs, upsetting the rhythm of the bird-song. "I have known worse. As for bard-ship, there is so little time and so much
to do. Even within the borders of fair Lorien."

Maglind's gaze darkens momentarily, and he seems to be even more absorbed in his playing. "Speaking of borders, are there
plans to retrieve your catapult? The net we dragged to the Fences, but the structure stands there still..."

"Until Arda's last breath, there is time." Galharth says softly, letting his voice lower in background to the harps cords.

At the mention of the catapult, the clothier's attention gathers. "There are plans. I spoke with Haldir, and he's granted me
an escort." Shifting slightly, he winces at the pull of his still healing bones. "In a weeks time, I'll go get it. If
Rhibi's father allows him to help me. If not it'll be two weeks I think."

"Outside it is the dead of winter," muses Maglind, thoughtfully ruffling the translucent strings. "It may be harder to move,
should it be on wheels."

"It is that winter that I hope allows us time to retreive it." Galharth says with a neutral expression, "And it dismantles
so that it can be carried upon our back. It is a heavy load, but it's one I've carried several times." A brow lifts, and the
clothier tilts his head. "Would you like to join us when we go to retrieve it?"

"If you have need of me," replies Maglind lightly, "though I am not considered the strongest of ellyn. I should be
interested."

He lapses into deep thought, pale fingers almost moving on their own as they coax birds' melodies from the harp.

Offering a glance to hint at a disagreement with the Warden's skill, the Clothier says nothing as he relaxes and settles in
to enjoy the harp tune played. And thus the two sit. One playing and one listening, under a stary sky.