[piosenniel]

The bedclothes heaved like the waves on a stormy sea, as she turned from side to side trying to get comfortable. It was a fair night out, and she had left the windows to her room open, to let in the breezes. Despite the cool night air, despite the fragrant cup of chamomile tea Cami had made for her, Pio could not sleep.

Twelve brief days and Mithadan would be at her side. She reached out with her mind to him, felt him sleeping there in Enedwaith, dreaming. She nudged his thoughts, making them pleasant ones, and kissing his brow, withdrew. He would be here by the end of Lótessë, or the beginning days of Nárië at the latest. That would give them a month before the twins were born. She smiled at the thought of it.

Pio got up from her bed and drew on a light green gown that hung to mid-calf. She had taken to wearing such dress since the time she had tried on her largest pair of breeches and could not fasten them about her. Her hair was long now, and she brushed it as smooth as the tenacious curls in it would allow, letting it flow down her back to her waist – a cascade of raven black waves. She slipped her feet into a pair of soft leather shoes, and went quietly out the kitchen door to the stable.

The moon was a silver sliver on the western rim of the Tower Hills. The morning star hung just above the distant Misty Mountains, heralding the coming of the sun. It was that hushed hour before the birds awoke to greet the day. Quiet, everywhere.

The horse nickered softly as Pio stepped into the darkened barn, eager to be out in the open. Rochfalmar, she was called, for her coat shimmered like a cresting wave shot with the sun’s light while the deep greys of the sea rolled beneath it.

Leading ‘Falmar to the yard, near the fenced in exercise ring for the other horses, she clambered up to the top rail, feeling quite ungainly in her balance. ‘Steady on, girl!’ she admonished the horse as well as herself. ‘Falmar drew near, and let the Elf make her ungraceful mount.

‘This may well be the last time I ride you. If I get any larger it will take a siege ladder to get me astride you again!’ ‘Falmar whickered softly at this comment, as if chuckling.

Pio tapped her heels against ‘Falmar’s sides, and led the way out of the inn’s yard. The reins were light in her hands, as she headed for the eastward path along the Water. She was bound for the home of a good friend she had made in the shire, Amaranthas Bolger. She lived just a few miles up the road that heads north from the Water to Oatbarton. Her intent was to ask the venerable Hobbit who could best serve her as a midwife.

Less than a mile from the inn, and they had left the small congestion of Bywater and were well into the low rolling hills of the East Farthing countryside. They made their way through the sea of high grasses. The wind rippled through the fields, the heads of the grasses undulating with it, like waves on a bright green sea.

‘Falmar stopped, her head held high, and shook her neck and head vigorously. Her grey mane flew wildly in the wind. Pio could feel the tension of the great horse’s muscles coiled beneath her. She wanted to run through the grass, cleaving it like a great ship through the cresting waves. Eat up the miles and leave them far behind her.

The Elf inched forward on the withers and bent down to whisper to the horse. Her hands wound tightly in ‘Falmar’s mane, and she gave a wide smile as the horse nodded its head vigorously.‘The wind is with us, 'Falmar. Let us run with it.’

She leaned as close to the horse as her babied girth would allow. Her mind reached out to catch the feeling of abandon as ‘Falmar leapt to meet the rolling green waves. They flew, and the wind of their passing was like a great sigh through the fields. The tall grasses parted for a brief moment, bowing down before them; then closed behind, as if undisturbed, once again . . .

[ February 27, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]