[Maegaladiel]

Nahai put her hands on her hips, somewhat frusterated. She KNEW that there was some paper in this room somewhere... She looked on the little table by her bed, disrupting a bar of soap and a quill pen in the process. Grunting in annoyance, she bent over to retrieve them from the floor. Her eye caught something cream colored under her bed. AHA!

Grinning triumphantly, the Beorning pulled the sheet of paper out. However had it gotten down there?

Humming the song she had taught to Morwyn, she struggled to recall the words as she wrote them down in her thin, scraggly handwriting.
*****

The stranger's eyes were glued on the flute Morwyn held in her hands. Nervously she brought it to her lips, as though to play. Annalalaith once again returned to drumming her fingers on the worn wooden bar in nervousness.

"Forgive me," the stranger said, realizing that his stare was making her uncomfortable. His voice was fluid and musical, bearing a deep, distinct elven accent. "But where did you get that flute? You see, I am searching for someone who once had an instrument such as that." Exactly like that, now that he got a better look at it. His heart skipped a beat as he realized the possibilities of the situation. Don't get your hopes up, he reminded himself. This could just be another wild orc chase.

He pulled the hood back off of his face. He was indeed elven, Morwyn noted. His face, although smudged with dirt and battered by the force of exaustion, had the characteristic beauty of his people. What suprised Morwyn was how old he looked.

At least, 'old' was the best word to describe it. He looked as most elves, young and fair, but something in his eyes made him seem like an ancient mortal was trapped inside this ever-youthful form.

He watched her now with an expression mixed with sadness and hope as he waited for her to reply.