There had to be a way to get this hair combed! Fouriously, Youlielle dragged the comb through her wet hair. One after another, her hair seperated. After almost half an hout of pulling and tugging, she was done. To avoid another mess, she braided them tightly to her head. Stretching out on the bed in the Innroom she and Aenara shared, she rested abit, when she heard noises. A mingle of rustled noises... she thought to identify Aenara, Findereg and Fin. Well, what was none of her buisiness, she guessed. How wrong she was......
[ February 19, 2003: Message edited by: Manardariel ]
__________________
Love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns on you with a miniature machine gun. Blog :-)| FanFicDream City
|