[Child of the 7th Age]

Lis

The young woman stood on tiptoe and craned her neck forward peering in with solemn brown eyes through the half-parted curtains. Her curls lay matted against her forehead, soft wisps of brown still wet from the downpour and from the raindrops that came shaking off the overhanging boughs whenever the wind whistled through the grove of trees near where she was staying.

She was hesitant to go inside. Her hands were dirty, her clothes stained with mud. There were cuts and abrasions on her fingers from hard manual labor. Her fist was still clenched about the shaft of her axe, her arms tough and muscular. She looked down critically at herself. Her tunic was frayed at the edges; her breeches made her seem more like a boy than a girl. But then others had made that mistake before.

Indeed, she looked nothing like the other women, those inside the Inn who were going about their business, laughing and drinking and eating; doing chores in the kitchen or waiting on tables. She could see the lasses in their soft, sweet skirts and the warrior maids with swords girded at their sides. To be truthful, she did not look like either of these. She was altogether a peculiar sort, very aware of her oddity, and full of doubt as to whether she would fit in very well.

She strained her ears to hear if any spoke the name “Baggins”, but none of the Little Folk seemed to go by that name. Maybe she had been wrong to come here.

I’m not supposed to be here. None of us are, she reminded herself. Remorselessly, the words raced through her mind. She was always going places where she wasn’t supposed to be. Through the glazed pane, she caught a glimpse of a solemn maid with tangled black hair streaming down her back, her fingers long and graceful. Nothing like mine, she thought. But then, they wouldn’t be terribly useful for the type of work I do.

There was a great fuss going on inside centering on a family of four: two small babes, a man and his wife. She narrowed her eyes and looked more closely at the lanky figure of the wife. Then she stepped closer and stared, pressing her nose hard against the window pane. She was both startled and fascinated by what she saw. An Elf! Whatever is an Elf doing in the Shire? I could understand Men slipping in from Bree, but father never spoke of any Elves here! If truth be told, she might have seen more than one Elf sitting and drinking in the Dragon on this or any other day. But her eyes were fixed on this particular Elf, and she was puzzled.

That settles it for sure. If there is one Elf inside, there may be more than one, I’m certainly not going to take a chance. The warmth and music tugged at her heart and the smell of good hot food, but she was not in any mood to meet an Elf, at least not today when she was dressed like this. For an instant there was a lull in the conversation as someone in the Dragon hurried over to push open the sash and let in the sweet smells of the Shire after the rainfall.

The woman on the steps jumped back but not quite in time. A pair of grey eyes turned quizically towards her. Totally alarmed, and sorry that she had ever stopped to take a peek, she clambered down the steps and began running along the path towards the back of the Inn. Only when she was half-way to the pond did she realize that she had left her precious axe sitting on the front window ledge of the Dragon. It lay there undisturbed for some time. The copper and gold glinted in the morning sun with its inscription carved in elaborate runes: To sweet Lis. From your father Balin

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]