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Old 12-29-2004, 02:05 PM   #1115
Pilgrim Soul
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Join Date: May 2004
Location: watching the wonga-wonga birds circle...
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Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
It was around midnight and few of the Shire folk were still abroad but any late to bed would have heard weary hoof-beats before they discerned a grey clad figure riding an iron grey horse. The elf, Mithalwen, had rested the previous day at Woodhall, where in times past she might well have met her kindred pausing in their own journey between Lindon and Rivendell. These days it was less likely - so many had gone to the Havens and departed Middle Earth forever.

Mithalwen sighed. Mithlond was her home. Although she seemed no older than a mortal maid of some twenty summers - unless you looked into her sea-grey eyes that held the memory of much - her earliest memories included the sight of the tall ships of Numenor sailing fr om the west; but now no ships sailed in to the havens - save from time to time ships from Gondor might arrive - and each departing ship was a reminder of the journey she would herself make at last. At such times, it was her habit to travel inland a while, as if to refresh her memory of the beauty of Middle Earth. She had not tired of it after a long age of the world and it would be hard to leave it forever, even if it meant rejoining her kin who had gone before.

As she sighed, her horse, Aeglos, stumbled and although he recovered his footing, Mithalwen realised immediately that his pace had become uneven. She dismounted and saw that he had cast a shoe. Although she found it a few yards back it had twisted. Mithalwen's father and brothers had been smiths and shipwrights and she had learnt from them how to shape both wood and metal (this not being forbidden to women of the Eldar though not common). By choice she wrought musical instruments (so combining a delight in craft inherited from her Noldorin father with a love of music passed from her Telerin mother) but by necessity she could turn her skills to more practical tasks. Replacing the shoe would not be a problem; straightening it with the small tools she carried in her saddle bags would. She needed a forge to do a decent job. She looked around her. It was not her practice to stay in mortal dwellings but she and her horse were soaked by the nights bitter rain and although she minded physical discomfort less, her spirit was lowered. Aeglos loked at her balefully. Her keen elvish sight picked out a sign hanging from one of the village buildings. "The Green Dragon" it read. Even if they had no stabling, they would know of a smithy. But that no doubt would have to wait til day.

It had stopped raining at last but water dripped from her sodden clothes. Her only piece of oilcloth covered her horses hindquarters. "Come, Aeglos mellon nin" she said " I will find you a warm stable " she threw back her hood and her usually silver hair, was darkened with rain and hung it rats tails about her pale face. "and I could use getting dry myself". She led the way to the inn and trusting Aeglos not to stray she searched for signs of activity.

Last edited by Mithalwen; 12-31-2004 at 08:52 AM. Reason: timing
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