================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Late Night < About 3:12 AM >
IC day is: Oranor <Sun-day>
IC date is: 18 Echuir <Stirring>
Moon phase: Full <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel shines very brightly above the horizon in the
eastern sky.
IC year is: Loa 16 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3040>
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RL time: Thu May 31 10:04:21 2007
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Oak Garden
Here nestled deep within the towering mallorn trees is a grove of oak and yew. Grown for purposes of resource and armament, this crop of trees looks oddly miniature, for though normal-sized, they are dwarfed in comparison to the mighty mellyrn surrounding them. The stands of lesser trees continue on eastward, new growth budding on their branches as bright yellow flowers bloom on the mellyrn. A pathway leads westward, back to the vineyard area.

Contents:
Galharth
Ostiel
Earsul
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The morning is young, and the wood...so glamorous. Though only the faintest hint of dawn can be seen on the horizon, the people of Lothlorien are already gliding about the wood, welcoming the soft, auburn light with wakefulness...save a small few. In the Oak Garden Ostiel lies, hair splayed out in fan across the shadowed grass. Her eyes are open...yet they do not see, for her fea is lost in dreams, and has not found sufficient reason to return to Arda.

A soft hum preceeds the arrival of another into the Oak Garden. The hum, soft, and filled with gentle reminders of life at its most joyful moments, mingles with the sounds of the garden, creating an almost magical sound. Moments pass, and a figure arrives. At the edge of the garden, Galharth pauses and looks around as if searching for something. When his eyes fall upon the ground, his brow arches with interest. "While I had hoped to find a few sturdy branches, forture falls upon me and I find not dull wood, but a lovely elleth." The Tailor smiles, and chuckles softly at his own words.

"Mind that you do not speak too loud, friend." The reproof is gentle, and spoken in an appropriately soft tone. "Those who lie in this garden to seek the dream state oft travel far in spirit, and the return journey is best made at their own pace." Earsul is sitting with his back propped against the sturdy trunk of an oak, a skin of wine in his hand as he raises his gaze to watch the sun begin its journey into the vault of the heavens.

Ostiel stirs with a sharp sigh, fingering flexing, curling into a fist, and relaxing. Abruptly she rolls over onto her side, tucking into a ball. The voices perhaps disturb her rest....or, perhaps, she has wandered into something unpleasant? Who is to know, but she twitches once, and lays still again.

Turning his gaze from the reclined Ostiel, the clothier focuses upon Earsul. "Is this why you've come?" Galharth says in a softer tone, intent upon soothing any who might hear his words. When crystal blue eyes fall upon the wineskin, the corner of the crafters mouth rises into a half smile, "Or, as I've often heard, this is a nice place to enjoy a well made wine."

As the crafter speaks, he catches sight of Ostiel's movement, and his words are stalled with concern. "Should we wake her?" he asks softly after the lady's twitch.

For a moment, Earsul's face clouds with concern as he looks upon Ostiel. But only for a moment. "Nay, it is best to let her be. E'en should her fea stray down the wrong path, she will always know that her home is inviolate and never more than a thought away. Such is the blessing of the Lady."

A breeze flows through, bearing the tantalizing scents of fruits and wines. The Cuigrithweg stirs again, and blinks...her eyes unglaze just a bit. She may be returning to Lorien, but again, it is hard to tell. One leg stretches out, brushing the trunk of a sturdy oak.

Chewing lightly upon his lower lip, the clothier lets his gaze sweep over Ostiel's sleeping form with concern. "Perhaps you're right, but should she move again with any hint of violence, I fear I can not help but to bring her relief."

"Ah! She wakes," he mutters softly with a smile. Chuckling softly, he looks to the oak's. "Such new and interesting things I find, when I am only searching for wood."

"This land is continually a wonder," Earsul agrees with a smile. "And perhaps it is for the best that she seems to be returning to us. I feel that she would not wish to miss a day so beautiful as this promises to be."

Standing, Earsul lays a hand on the tree he was leaning against, partly in thanks, partly in appraisal. "If it is wood ye seek, I fear these trees are still too young. The green life is strong to the touch. I believe a yew was felled yesterday, further in the grove. What is it you had planned to craft, if I might wonder?"

"So I am learning...." Galharth whispers more to himself than anyone present. From those words, a silence falls as the clothier watches Ostiel stir. He smiles at the mention of the day's beauty, nodding silently in agreement.

"The wood?" the crafter says, finally turning his attention back to Earsul. "It's not for me, but a carpenter who's making a win...um, a winch," he says, screwing his face in concentration. "Or something along that line. It's a frame which will be used to draw up the rope tied to the articles lying at the bottom of the river."

With a practised motion, Earsul corks his wineskin and it vanishes somewhere in the shadows of his cloak. Turning to Galharth, there is active interest sparkling in his eyes. "A winch, you say? It is oak you'll be needing, then. The yew is of no use to you; you'll have to ask the foresters to fell another." He pauses, and smiles mischievously. "They might not like that - they grow quite attached to these trees, I hear."

Galharth blinks at Earsul, clearly confused. "I'm a Tailor, not a carpenter. I know not the variations in the woods." Furrowing his brow lightly, he peers into the garden, searching the ground. "I'm here under clear instructions to ...I quote.... don't come back till two really big oak branches are found."

Taking a step closer, he bows his head and lowers his voice. "Carpenters get testy when you question what they do."

"It's a shame, really," Ostiel mumbles huskily, "That to be able to create, first some suffering must occur." With a deep sigh, she rolls over onto her back, looking up at the lightening sky.

"Ah, well, if it's just a pair of branches that you need, you might be in better luck. No need to bother the foresters; there is a pile of large oak branches back at the vineyard, waiting to be broken up for firewood." Hearing speech behind him, Earsul turns, and finds that Ostiel has indeed returned to dwell in the waking lands once more. "Aye, but that is the way of all things. Indeed, without the aid of the foresters, these oaks would not be able to enjoy the blessing of life here at all; they could not compete with our mighty mellyrn. I hope we did not disturb you, my lady," he adds, somewhat abashedly.

Glancing back towards the path that he had come, Galharth nods. "I'll try the Vinyard next. It's not far and if the branches have not yet been broken up, then I'll have what I need."

Glancing towards Ostiel, the clothier shakes his head. "Not all things of creation begin with the suffering of others." He pauses to touch the cloth of his robe. "Neither silk, cotton, nor wool is gathered at the suffering of any. Indeed, as an example, do the sheep not find a welcome relief when their coats are removed at a time when seasonal temperatures rise?"

At Earsul's final words, the crafter grows quiet, and a concern flickers in his eyes as he awaits the Lady's answer to the question of if they'd disturbed her.

"That is true, but surely one of those sheep felt some anguish the first time he was held down and shed." Ostiel sits up and stretches with a dainty yawn, grass and twigs sticking out of her hair, hanging off her dress. What she can see is wiped off. "Perhaps you did disturb me, but I do not feel disturbed," she answers with a slow, sleepy smile, and makes to rise.

Earsul plucks absently at his clothes as Ostiel talks of the shearing, perhaps looking at them in a new light. Perhaps just removing a fleck of dirt. "I am glad to hear it. And now you can enjoy the day refreshed and renewed." Looking around the garden, he adds, "This is indeed a healthy place. But I must take my leave, I promised Bainon that I would help him at the vineyard this morn."

"If those who shear the sheep were human, then perhaps the sheep would be upset, but we are talking about edhel doing the shearing." Galharth says with a confident smile. As he catches sight of the additions to the lady's wardrobe, the clothier chuckles softly. "If you do not feel disturbed, than indeed, you were not disturbed. All, in all, I am glad for this news."

Turning as Earsul announces his departure, the crafter lifts his hand in farewell. "A favor if you will, or are able. Could you please let those at the Vinyards know I seek wood branches, so they might delay breaking what they have into firewood."

Ostiel shakes her head, but chooses not to argue with Galharth over the matter, instead plucking a grey beetle of her exposed leg and laying on the ground. "Fare you well then, Earsul. May your day be fruitful."

Ostiel's pun brings a smile to Earsul's face, and it remains there as he walks westward towards his home-from-home. "Worry not," he assures Galharth as he passes by, "I shall personally pick out the biggest and sturdiest branches and set them aside for you. You have but to come by for them." With that, he is gone amongst the trees, a final "Namarie" floating in the air behind him.

"Thank you!" Galharth calls out to Earsul's departing form. Turning towards Ostiel, his eyes fall briefly upon the small beetle that makes it's way into the soft forest floor. When he looks up, he tilts his head. "I suppose I should make a quick sweep through the garden, in case there are no branches for me to retrieve in the Vinyards. You're welcome to join me, unless you have other matters to attend."

Shaking her head, which is still full of nature's bounty, Ostiel moves a bit closer to the Clothier, studying the tree he's nearest to, a tall, sturdy oak with a series of scratches down it's trunk. "I am without duties today." She blinks, pushes past the ellon and crouches, feeling one of the marks with her fingertips. Slowly, the Cuigrithweg smiles. "I thought these had faded long ago..."

Following the movement of the lady's fingers, Galharth finds himself peering curiously at the marks on the tree. "What are they?" he asks, bending closer to the tree. Narrowing his eyes, he carefully inspects the evidence. "Perhaps a wolf's paw, or marks from a longsword?" he asks as he turns his head towards the Attendant.

Gentle laughter pours from Ostiel's mouth, low and soothing. "Nay," she chuckles, running her hand down the long scar, "They came from these same fingers that touch them now. Long ago, when I was shorter than that sapling over there," she gestures to a small tree not five foot tall yet, "I climbed this tree, and was sitting within. I was young and foolish, and stood up on the topmost branch, waving my arms as if to fly. I flew, straight down, and if I hadn't buried my fingernails in this poor soul's trunk, I would surely not be here with you today. My finger ached for weeks, but it slowed me enough so that I didn't kill myself."

"Ah," Galharth chuckles softly, "You're not an elleth, but a cat in disguise." Standing upright, he turns from the tree, "I am glad that you survived such trials in your youth. Perhaps young Rhibi will one day look back on his own adventures as you do now."

Stepping away from the tree, the clothier peers into the garden. "I've no such things from my own past. Perhaps I've been overly cautious and ended up missing out on experiences."

"Perhaps it is because you did not have Galuverior for a brother," Ostiel replies with a smile, giving the tree one final caress. "Thank you, mellon nin." She stands as well, and moves further into the brush. "My brother was a notorious risk-taker in his youth, and for the most part dragged me along with him. Perhaps that was an influence on my choice to become a healer. I'd already had my share of violence." Chuckling, she stops and picks up a long, sturdy stick.

"Myself, I spent a lifetime observing." the clothier says as he looks towards the west and the snow covered mountains. "It was my cousins who took the risks." Falling silent for a moment, Galharth sighs deeply and returns his gaze to the lady. "I suppose we must all follow our hearts regardless of where we might be led. And I suppose, regardless of everything, we all make some form of contribution."

Taking another step into the garden, the crafter seems suddenly more subdued. "I need to get back to my search dear lady." he says as he makes his way further into the garden. "Farewell for now, and be well...." with that he sets foot into the garden, disappearing into the shadows of the trees.