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Durelin · 10-17-2003, 07:19 PM

Night, October 31st

My Dearest Plum Cake...

Dury's hand's shook as he attempted to scribble down his thoughts by the bouncing light of flames. Crossing out the words Plum Cake, he ran the goose feather along his mouth in thought. Is your mind always lying in your stomach, Dury Greenhand "Is your mind always lying in your stomach, Dury Greenhand."

Dury jumped at hearing his own voice. After a shake of his head, he was lost again in his thoughts. He watched the flames dance and spark in the cool autumn night, feeling the heat fall upon him in waves and mingle with the chilly breezes that ruffled the colored leaves in the trees above. It felt at home, and Dury, for the first time in days, felt at peace. On wafts of heat from a cool stone oven, he could almost smell the sweet scent of fresh baked breads and cakes and tarts and…he was not hungry. He could not bring himself to touch those nice smelling things, would not ask for one. Did he really miss a smell? A taste? No, he did not truly miss anything, yet. Yet.

My Dearest, he began again. Our actions have been made known following a series of uncontrollable events. All the more do we resist what is so wrong in our home, what is wrong in any place in the world. But, all the more are we placed in danger. We have gained some sympathy -- no, not all who follow like sheep are cold stone-hearted folk -- but some does not make up for the enemies we have, enemies that know we consider them so. I had believed before that this would be like any other trip that I might take, even with its risks. Now, though, it is clear to me what these risks are, and that they are there.

For a moment, he paused, his thoughts trailing off with the rising of a great lump in his throat. A great lump of emotions. Going to write again, a wet drop caused the word risks to run.

I hope you read this with me by your side to explain my words, and my thoughts and feelings that are not able to be contained in them. If not, I love you, my honey cake and my two little plum cakes two.

Another drop fell, this time on a blank spot of paper, but a smile adorned Dury's glistening face, a small smile, but a smile all the same. With a careless flick of his wrist, Dury tossed his feather pen into the campfire in a great rising of sparks. It was a beautiful scene, picturesque, with brilliant gold sparks streaking out into a deep shining black to mingle with silver stars. It was all the more beautiful to the hobbit because of his simple action that held such overwhelming meaning. He would not write another word, as not one other word was needed.

He let the ink dry on the paper for a moment before folding it up and placing it in his shirt pocket, next to his heart. Dury lay down in his bedding, listening to the beats sounding to the same rhythm as the waves of comforting warmth. After an early rise, the long trek began again as the hobbits headed toward Longbottom, and Dury walked in the steps of comfort. The risks were there.

10-17-2003, 07:19 PM	#79
Durelin Estelo dagnir, Melo ring Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 3,063	Night, October 31st My Dearest Plum Cake... Dury's hand's shook as he attempted to scribble down his thoughts by the bouncing light of flames. Crossing out the words Plum Cake, he ran the goose feather along his mouth in thought. Is your mind always lying in your stomach, Dury Greenhand "Is your mind always lying in your stomach, Dury Greenhand." Dury jumped at hearing his own voice. After a shake of his head, he was lost again in his thoughts. He watched the flames dance and spark in the cool autumn night, feeling the heat fall upon him in waves and mingle with the chilly breezes that ruffled the colored leaves in the trees above. It felt at home, and Dury, for the first time in days, felt at peace. On wafts of heat from a cool stone oven, he could almost smell the sweet scent of fresh baked breads and cakes and tarts and…he was not hungry. He could not bring himself to touch those nice smelling things, would not ask for one. Did he really miss a smell? A taste? No, he did not truly miss anything, yet. Yet. My Dearest, he began again. Our actions have been made known following a series of uncontrollable events. All the more do we resist what is so wrong in our home, what is wrong in any place in the world. But, all the more are we placed in danger. We have gained some sympathy -- no, not all who follow like sheep are cold stone-hearted folk -- but some does not make up for the enemies we have, enemies that know we consider them so. I had believed before that this would be like any other trip that I might take, even with its risks. Now, though, it is clear to me what these risks are, and that they are there. For a moment, he paused, his thoughts trailing off with the rising of a great lump in his throat. A great lump of emotions. Going to write again, a wet drop caused the word risks to run. I hope you read this with me by your side to explain my words, and my thoughts and feelings that are not able to be contained in them. If not, I love you, my honey cake and my two little plum cakes two. Another drop fell, this time on a blank spot of paper, but a smile adorned Dury's glistening face, a small smile, but a smile all the same. With a careless flick of his wrist, Dury tossed his feather pen into the campfire in a great rising of sparks. It was a beautiful scene, picturesque, with brilliant gold sparks streaking out into a deep shining black to mingle with silver stars. It was all the more beautiful to the hobbit because of his simple action that held such overwhelming meaning. He would not write another word, as not one other word was needed. He let the ink dry on the paper for a moment before folding it up and placing it in his shirt pocket, next to his heart. Dury lay down in his bedding, listening to the beats sounding to the same rhythm as the waves of comforting warmth. After an early rise, the long trek began again as the hobbits headed toward Longbottom, and Dury walked in the steps of comfort. The risks were there.