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‘. . . perhaps after getting to know each other a little better you will not be so upset that your sister and I,' Farael looked at the flower on his tunic, 'were having a little conversation!’
I highly doubt that! thought Tindomion to himself. He kept his expression neutral as the man finished speaking. ‘Yes, no doubt, we will be safer with weapons at hand,’ he said, nodding his head at Farael. ‘The High King’s Peace aside, I have no trust of Sauron’s minions, especially his Orcs. I’ve seen too often the death they bring. Cruel death. And for the most part, solely for the sport of it.’
Telu spoke up, saying that perhaps they should go back to the Inn, to fetch their bows and quivers. ‘I’ll bring mine, too,’ she said, taking her brother’s arm as they started back toward the Dragon. Tindo raised his brow at her suggestion, then laughed.
‘You think to beat me this time, little sister?’ he chuckled. ‘Don’t deny it! I can see it written in your eyes.’ He peered around Telu to where Farael walked along beside her. ‘She never forgave our father or Thranduil for forbidding her to join our ranks. She really is quite good, you know.’
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Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night . . .
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