[Huan]

Emlin speaks with Teluyaviel

Emlin turned to face his questioner. The soft evening played about her as would a shadow – save shadows were dark and this one light. He bowed to her, a look of pleasure at her greeting on his face. ‘Emlin, at your service, m’lady,’ he said, tucking his fife into the waistband of his breeches. ‘And to be truthful, I have been playing so long, I cannot recall a time when I did not know how to do so.’

He smiled at her. ‘If I might, and if you will not presume me too bold – a bit of an old poem came to me, when first I turned and saw you.’

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

He took her hand without asking leave and twirled her about in front of him. Her dress swirled about her legs and her dark hair lifted as she moved through the light evening breeze. ‘Enchanting,’ he thought to himself.

And then again aloud as she stopped, facing him, ‘What brings someone so fair so far from . . . . the Greenwood, is it. Or do I mistake that certain lilt you have in speaking?’

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(With respects to Lord Byron for the borrowing of his poem)