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Old 12-29-2003, 11:52 AM   #18
piosenniel
Desultory Dwimmerlaik
 
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Sting

Pio's post - Rôg

Wiping the last few drops of water from the well on the front folds of his cloak, Rôg crossed the narrow, wooden verandah and pushed the Inn door open. He had sluiced his hands off thoroughly, removing any lingering odors from the bundle of soiled clothes he had carried out to the refuse heap. And now he had plans to secure a table by the fire for himself and his traveling companion. Breakfast, and plenty of strong, hot tea to wash it down, occupied his thoughts as he stepped into the Common Room.

‘Pio!’

He heard the young woman who had entered ahead of him call out to someone she had seen across the room. His gaze, drifted from the sparrow on the woman’s shoulder, toward the small scene playing out a short distance from him. With a sharp intake of breath he stepped backwards toward the door, seeking a quick exit back to the Inn's front yard. He abhorred violence, and the promise of it was too near for his comfort.

~*~

The wrens had flown off, their attention caught by a field of sunflowers in a field to the north and the lure of abundant seed for the taking. The old man lingered at the open window for a moment, watching the tiny brown cloud of them grow smaller in the distance.

A soft whirr, and the feathery brush of delicate wings tickled against his left ear. His hand came up to brush the source of irritation away and was stopped by a barely audible murmuring.

‘Move your stumpy fingers! You’re about to crush my antenna!’

The small brown, gypsy moth latched on to the old fellow’s fingers and rode them in a dizzying arc to a position just in front of Aiwendil’s eyes. A moment of sudden queasiness ensued, followed by the irritated twitching of the moth’s antennae. ‘Yes, it’s me,’ he squeaked, his front leg smoothing out the crook in his right antenna left by the brief pressure of the old man’s fingers. ‘I’ve come to suggest we skip breakfast and hit the road. That big fellow who came in after us yesterday – some Elf, named Pio, I think, has challenged him. The atmosphere in the Common Room has taken a decidedly tense . . . and possibly ugly, turn.’

Last edited by piosenniel; 04-07-2004 at 11:39 AM.
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