August 13, 2001

North greensward
A sheer path ascends from the forest floor below to a small discreet gate that leads to Amon Obel - the protected stockade of the woodmen of Brethil. From higher on the path much of the forest in all directions can be seen. Lower on the path, only the depths of the woods can be seen for all the trees.

"It was only half..mine.." the messenger's retort is curbed swiftly by the approach of the woodsman, and stifling a chuckle aimed in ALdawin's direction, she simply raises a hand in greeting. "Now..what do you mean by that." The grey eyes draw close to squinting, though its cause cannot lie wholly in the harsh light of the early morning, but in the healer's taunt. Spending a moment , pondering this, quietly, flute rolling in her hands aimlessly, Sionell sighs. From atop her perched position on the gates, a long look is given first to the healer and then to the approaching form of Istadris, and without a moment's delibertaion she lifts her voice to call in his diection. "G'morn Istadris. You will be gladdened to know...that , there is bulb tincture for dinner...isn't that right Aldawin?"

Istadris squints up at Sionell where she sits perched high up on the wooden stockade, and his left hand raises to shade his narrowed eyes from the clear morning's bright sunlight. "Ah, Sionell, I shall make no effort to catch you, should you fall from up there." He warns in a most serious tone, though his lips are curved wryly, "And neither shall any of the Haladin guardsmen, it seems." The woodsman's gaze strays past the messenger, and he half turns to survey the distant trees beyond the gaping gateway before looking questioningly to Aldawin. "Now what is this of bulbs for dinner?" He asks, arching an eyebrow as he looks to the basket that the young healer carries, "What sort of bulbs?"

The Beor healer rolls her eyes with a mock, silencing glance to Sionell, shaking her head as she draws away from the gate to stand next to the woodsman. "Good morn, Ista," she greets. "Pay little or no attention to our blithe friend there," she then says with a grin. "For some reason, Sionell is overly cheerful today. I've yet to find out why." Now the gaze returns to the basket. "And though I have told her already, these are nothing so complicated as dinner, but rather medicine." Aldawin darts another glance to the messenger, but then returns that gaze to Istadris. "What brings you northward of the HIll this morn?"

"I shall not fall " The quiet assertion of the messenger floats gaily to the two gathered below her and legs swinging, as firm testament, she manages a spry wave to first the healer and woodsman. Disregading Aldawin's comments, she smiles letting them exchange pleasantries, while she lifts the rough instrument to her lips. Blowing steadily, upon the flute, a few unharmonious notes ring out on the light winds. A somewhat startling accompaniment, to those in quiet converse below.

"Medicine, are they?" Asks the woodsman, as he looks with seeming suspicious to the basket which Aldawin bears at her side. A quick, dismissive shake of his head, and he looks once again up high to where Sionell sits. "I did not know Sionell could play the flute." He marvels, before glancing quickly to the healer and letting out a quiet gasp. "Blast, I'd forgotten something, Aldawin." He admits, reaching swiftly beneath the thick folds of his cloak and into a packet sown into the thick garment's inside. "The elven squire, Curundil..." He begins, as he tugs out a bundle of what appears to be cloth folded over various times, "He has left the hill along with Felagund and his folk, yet he gave me a gift for you 'ere departing. One for you, and another for your cousin, Antyr." He adds quietly, while unwrapping the cloth.

Beneath the avenue of trees leading up to the gate upon edge of the hill comes Finnabair dressed in a faded, brown cloak with the great height of her longbow resting on one shoulder. The sound of her steps grind softly on the well beaten path and she looks up as she nears the gate, hearing the sound of a flute carrying on the air. There she finds three: Sionell, Aldawin and Istadris. Looking up to the first, Sionell, sitting high on the stockade playing the instrument she shields her eyes against the sunlight and continues to walk forward, lifting her other hand in greeting, "Good morrow.", she says to all three.

Aldawin glances upwards at the somewhat precarious perch that Sionell sits upon, though the brows furrow in obvious concern at first they are soon raised in doubt as the unharmonious notes compete with the nearby songbirds. "And this is the tune of a teacher--" She begins to taunt, but falls to silence as Istadris utters a quiet oath and reaches into the pocket of his cloak. "A gift from Curundil?" she wonders, leaning closer to peer at the folded cloth. "T'was good of him to think of Antyr," she murmurs, just as Finnabair's greeting meets the morn as well. "Good morn, Finnabair," she says, curious. "T'is been some time since our paths have crossed. I trust all is well?"

"Good morn to ye Finnabair..." The busy piping ceases altogether with the arrival of the Beorian ranger and glancing down quizzically at those gathered below , just within the reach of her dangling feet Sionell draws the crude instrument slowly from her lips. A curious glance is given in the direction from where the ranger had come, grey of eyes following the obsure path that fades in patches , blending slightly with encroaching remnants of snow lain underfoot. "I am merely clearing the dust.." is the quiet reply, the messenger still studying the line of trees beyond with absorbing interest, till mention of gifts catches her attention, and she inclines her head to gaze curiously below.

The Beorian woodsman has soon unwrapped the cloth held in his left hand, revealing the three objects that lie within its folds: Three small silver brooches--each studded by a tiny gem at the center--glitter in the morning's clear light. "One for you, one for Antyr, and one for me." He utters to Aldawin, though his gaze is torn from the gifts in hand to the approaching Ranger, Finnabair. "Good morn, Finnabair... I have some news for you, today." He calls in reply to the other, again lifting his free hand to shield his narrowed eyes from the bright sun's glare. "Take two, Aldawin, and see to it that Antyr receives one." He says then to the healer, while offering her a choice of the three brooches, "I have not seen him in some time now. He is no longer living upon the hill, I take?"

Finnabair comes up to the gates and stops, slipping her bow from her shoulder and setting the tip of it lightly to the ground. Raising a brow at Sionell, she nods to Aldawin's question and replies, "The forest keeps me busy these days, Aldawin. Moreso now that winter fades and the sickness is done with us." Still looking up at Sionell she reaches to tap at the bottom of one of the messenger's feet, "Clearing the dust from your shelf there or from the instrument?", she asks, "What has you climbing so high to play your songs? Are you trying to join the birds?", she grins, turning now to Istadris with another question, "What news have you?"

Turning back to peer at the silver brooches which glitter in the golden sun's light, Aldawin reaches forward to prod at them lightly with her finger, noting the brilliance of the gems. "Tis to hard choose," she utters softly with a glance to the woodsman. "Take the one you wish to keep and give me the other two. As for Antyr, I know only that he went with his family to the forest before the winter settled," she then says, but falls to silence as Istadris makes mention of news to the other. The gaze is lifted from the jewelry back to Sionell briefly, and she gives the other a chiding grin.

Curiously quiet, reticence taking its gradual hold, Sionell simply smiles at the Ranger's questions, shaking her head as a light shrug, rolls the shoulders beneath the heavy grey cloak. "It has been dusty.."she says softly, studying the rough flute in her hands quietly, "from want of use...but now perhaps that will change." These are all the words that follow, for she grins matching Aldawin's with one of her own, an eyebrow raised perhaps in mock defiance. A light attempt at some private jest no doubt. "Now..that winter is past, I can begin my lessons again...now that we are free to leave the hill" This is voiced with the uncertainty of a question and she adds , slowly looking askance at each in turn.

Istadris follows Aldawin's glance upwards to where Sionell still perches, and quickly edges a step aside to stand a bit further from where the messenger would fall, should she stumble off her perch. "I do not know which I would choose." He replies, with a frown and a thoughtful glance at the brooches, "I would not wear it often, or surely I would lose it in the woods and never find it again." Nonetheless with a light shrug, the tracker takes the silver brooch studded with a tiny emerald and offers the other two to the young healer. "Perhaps we should take a trip to see Antyr now that the weather has warmed, and deliver his gift." He suggests with a pleased smile, before looking aside to Finnabair. "The Warden Reynulf is interested in having his lads take part in daily training exercises." He tells the ranger in eager tones, "He feels they are ill prepared for any real trouble, should any come to the hill. Many of these men are accustomed to fighting with axe and bow, and I thought you may be willing to offer them some instruction, as most have never seen--much less fought--the yrch."

Finnabair glances quickly back up to Sionell and winks before dropping her gaze down at the jewels that pass between Istadris and Aldawin, giving them a questioning glance but forgoing asking after them, "Perhaps.", she answers, considering him with a thoughtful look, "Though I do not know that I am of a mind to remain upon the hill as a teacher. Have him speak of it with me when I return.", she tells the woodsman, nodding slowly.

Accepting the other two brooches from the woodsman as Istadris selects his own, Aldawin smiles anew, and looks closer to one which is adorned with a light-blue jewel. "Aye, and I like this one best," she says, admiring it for a moment before setting both aside in her own cloak's pocket.

Talk of daily trainings warrants the healer's further attention. And though she listens without comment as Istadris speaks of being prepared should the yrch attempt the Hill, the concerned temperance of her gaze is hard to miss. Finnabair's answer garners further interest, and Aldawin asks then, "Is it the Hill that you dislike, or the idea of being a teacher?" She slides the basket further back upon her arm, where it rests. "For I have recommended you to Leana, who would learn something of the axe. Her father has forbidden she train with the guard, yet I know she desires the training."

The woodsman's thin lips purse disappointedly at Finnabair's response, though he dips his head simply in turn and glances curiously up to where Sionell sits atop the wooden stockade. "What lessons do you speak of, Sionell?" He calls to the messenger, "Lessons with the flute, you mean? Or something else?" Istadris casts Aldawin and Finnabair each a brief glance before seeking the messenger's eyes once more, and awaiting her response.

"If all students are as pestering as mine I understand fully Finnabair.." The messenger's jesting remark, drifts down to those below and with a bound, heedless of grace of technique she hops lightly from her perch. Alighting with less ease perhaps that she normally would for slight discomfort shows plainly in the widened grey eyes as leather of boot makes firm contact with the rough ground. A twitch of a smile and dismissive shake of the head, is given in ample response to the woodsman's questions, before she elaborates further, her answer with words. "Lessons...with the flute, yes..and also of writing and reading..tis a useful skill perhaps, though not as important as learning to wield a weapon in one's own defense."

Finnabair looks to Aldawin for the moment, shaking her head, "It is neither.", she answers simply, "And Leana too may speak of it with me when I return. If she wishes.", she adds, lifting her bow and stepping back as Sionell leaves her post and jumps lightly to the ground. "Perhaps we should send them to you to learn those things instead, Sionell.", she grins, turning back to Istadris with another question, "Why has Reynulf not asked you to do this?", she wonders, "Of us two, he knows you the better."

Istadris ventures a crooked smile at Sionell's words, and quickly nods his head in agreement. "Aye, not as important as learning to defend oneself, perhaps..." He adds, with a level look directed at Finnabair, "But reading and writing is quite useful at times, nevertheless." The tracker quickly slips his new silver brooch into the same pocket within the folds of his cloak, and again looks to the ranger. "I have volunteered to help Reynulf and his men." He answers her, "Yet, I am unaccostumed to fighting with the axe, and most of his men--including Reynulf himself--prefer such a weapon to blade or spear. I mean to make sure they lean how to fight the yrch, yet there is little I could teach them of wielding the axe effectively."

With the continued talk of training and weapons, Aldawin's glance falls to the empty sheath at her side. Her mouth twists downward in a pensive frown, though lifts with a forced smile as she addresses the last of Istadris' words. "I cannot imagine they are similar in technique at all...axe and blade," she says with a shrug. "And surely there are not many here who have blades as we did in Dorthonion, though I have asked Leana to craft a weapon for me." The smile twists into a wry grin of contemplation. "T'will be interesting to see what it turns out to be. Which reminds me.." the healer murmurs in afterthought. "I would speak to about something, Istadris."

"As much as this talk of weaponery...should make me inclined to begin my own lessons with the spear.."and here Sionell smiles, wryly, "it has only served as a reminder that I need to get the shaft fixed..so perhaps I should not tarry futher, " Chukling she pries the flute from her fingers, and tucks it into the smooth folds of her cloak with a nod and dip of the head to all those gathered. "A pleasant morn to ye..should any of you have need of writing and its like...I shall be up at the Warden's" Grinning, a wink punctautes the last before, the messenger taks the well worn path towards the hill. Whistling a nonchalant tune in her passing.

Finnabair nods again, "True.", she replies to Istadris, "Yet still you could instruct them in many other things of fighting yrch and of defending themselves. It is not only the axe that can do that and your skill in the bow surpasses mine.", she says, looking to both him and Aldawin, "But I will speak with you and Reynulf when I return. We might teach them together. We shall see.", she says, shouldering her bow again but remaining where she stands as she bids farewell to Sionell, "A good day to you as well, Sionell.", she calls, lifting her hand.

The Beor woodsman gives a quick shake of his head in response to Aldawin's words. "Nay, blades here are rare." He says, looking idly to one of the passing Haladin guardsmen who bears only a bow and short axe for weapons. "They have more need of a sturdy axe, I suppose." Istadris looks then to Finnabair, and nods knowingly at her words. "Aye, I mean to see what I may teach the men. But do at least come by the hill some day soon, and join in the practices. Reynulf seemed truly interested in discussing his own axe with you." The messenger's announced departure draws Istadris' attention back to Sionell, and he dips his head to her before voicing a reply. "Ay, good day, Sionell." He calls, while pulling aside the folds of his cloak to expose his shirt-clad body to the sun's warming rays, "If you do seek practice with the spear, something could surely be arranged..." With a sideways look to Aldawin, then, Istadris beckons back down the lane and says, "I am expected at the tavern soon, Alda. Come walk with me and speak."

"Farewell, Sionell!" Aldawin calls to the messenger as the younger Beor makes her way from them, though the grey gaze is brought next to Finnabair, thoughtful. "They must learn with the weapons they have," Aldawin adds belatedly, with a look to the ranger. Her gaze lowers briefly, but raises up in attempt to meet with the other woman's once more. "It would do us well to prepare the Haladin against the yrch in whatever way we may. We cannot afford seclusion if the enemy is yet a threat to us. I would surely not decline to teach them...if my skills were good enough." A moment passes, and though it seems that Aldawin would say more, she forces a smile and looks along the lane towards the tavern, offering a wistful smile to the woodsman as she draws alongside him once more. "Aye, then, Ista. Let us speak as we make our way to the tavern. Good day, Finnabair."

Finnabair returns Aldawin's gaze evenly, shrugging, "I have not declined yet, Aldawin. I have not even spoken with Reynulf yet. At least allow me that before you make you give me your advice.", she answers, glancing away to lower her head to Istadris, "Tell Reynulf when I return then.", she says, straightening and taking a firm grasp around the wrapped handle of her longbow, "I will be gone a few days.", she adds, beginning to turn but pausing midstep, "I hope you are not growing slow and lazy upon this hill, Istadris.", she chides, turning quickly then for the gate and the path beyond it, where it winds down the hill. "Farewell for now!", she calls back over her shoulder to them as her light and swift steps bear her away.