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Indil's fear of Erebemlin was nothing to what she now felt in the presence of Thoronwe. Though his actions were not violent or unkind, the way he spoke and moved had none of the gentle reassurance of the men she had left behind.
As he studied her, Indil trembled in his grip; he was strong, but not comfortable like Raefindan, on whose lap she could sleep, or patient like Bergil, who watched over her always, and he did not play like Aeron or Mellondu. Thoronwe watched her too closely, and she could not look away.
At his question, Indil's mind seemed suddenly free and she saw the butterfly beat its wings gracefully and fruitlessly where it perched upon the fallen wood. She felt cold dirt against her bare toes. A breeze tugged at her nightclothes and pulled at her unplaited hair. She was hungry and cold again.
She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but her own reflection. She asked shyly, "Will she like me?"
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