The riddle-game had ended with a profitable clincher of silver for Bird, but the silver waterfalls of Imladris still beckoned. Holly’s sketches of ouzels sporting in gold-hued sunlit streams charmed onlookers, but tomorrow’s sun would cast new riches to seek out. Jewelled tones from Estelarion’s flute, Meneli’s voice, and the drums and harps of minstrels fell into a hush, yet words awaited adventures to come. Bethberry’s light steps slowed their dance under a pearly glow from the rising half-moon, but new direction would henceforth guide her path. The war steed Midnight took up an obsidian position on the lawn to ensure that the shortening of grass accompanied the shortening of day, though another day would lengthen the lawn. When the embers in Gandalf’s pipebowl dimmed, he tamped them out into the dirt of the continuing road. The motley group of travelling companions would leave the road, only to take to it again come morning. Rangers came and went, ever on patrol.
|