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Old 07-01-2004, 08:19 PM   #346
Itinerant Songster
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Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
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Silmaril Raefindan

"Shall we march, or rest, Raefindan? What think you?" Ravion asked.

It was not as easy a question as it might have seemed to someone looking in from outside. Raefindan allowed a fleeting grin to pass over his face, for that kind of thought was quite alien to this place called Middle Earth, which was not his home. Raefindan focused his attention. Mellonin's dream was not merely troublesome. This was worse. It reminded him of how he had felt when the Elf had forced him to dream. If that was so.....

"We must be away from here, Ravion," he said suddenly, with more force than he had used in any speech for a long time. "I do not trust that Elf, nor the beast in the waters."

"Mind you, Raefindan, you are weak, and we have all barely escaped with our lives."

"All the more reason to leave this place, which I think you know."


Raefindan helped Ravion to encourage the others to move. Aeron, kicking at a bit of turf, looked at Mellonin down his nose. Gwyllion stamped up to him and punched him on the shoulder.

"The real men in this group do not turn up their noses at a woman's sorrow, and neither should you, you beastly boy!"

Aeron made to swing back at her, but she ducked out of reach. "Little you know, Gwyllion, and I am older than you and know more of the ways of the world."


"It is time to move your feet and not your mouths!" Ravion called over his back as he checked Gond's pack.

Jorje was sniffing at Mellonin's hand and face, eager to lick her salty tears.

"Come, Jorje," said Raefindan. Jorje wagged his tail. Raefindan patted his head, and knelt before Mellonin. "Come, my friend, let us put some distance between us and that Swamp Elf and his evil dreams." He offered her his hand.

Mellonin looked to him. "Do you think that my brother is not dead?" She placed her hand in his, and he lifted her to her feet.

"I cannot say, but a dream dreamed in this swamp is no clear arbiter." They began to follow the others, Jorje tailing them, his tongue lolling happily.

"No clear hour bitter? What do you mean?"

"Pay no mind. It is one of my odd words. What I mean to say is that I would not trust a dream dreamed here." Mellonin nodded. "We will not travel far."
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