Soronūmė was alone at his table once more as Amron had been taken off to the kitchen. He watched as the Barrow Wight took his seat again and picked up his drink, still watching the kitchen door. He guessed that is what the young girl had meant earlier when she left the kitchen, some sort of punishment. Dwarin entered the kitchen and Soronūmė heard laughter from another corner in the inn. Following the sounds he noticed a group of four elves laughing away, clearly having fun.
Soronūmė then noticed a young maiden, who he had heard being called Sarah, dancing with a violin on her shoulder. She was playing a familiar tune. Soronūmė looked down to the empty cup in his hand. He was no dancer but Soronūmė could certainly sing a tale or two. He rose and began to walk over to the maiden, quietly singing to himself as he went.
He sang a tale he had heard many years ago, one a good friend of his had written. As Soronūmė sang he could see and hear his friend's voice in his mind, and without realising, his own voice had grown louder as he sang in unison with the distant voice of an age old friend. Suddenly consious of what he was doing Soronūmė stopped singing, and saw that the maiden had stopped playing her violin some time ago. Her eyes were fixed on him. "What language was that?" she asked. "I couldn't understand the words but I am sure they are full of meaning. It is a beautiful song, Sir." Soronūmė was surprised, "I am sorry m'lady. I did not mean to stop your playing with my verse." She smiled as he continued, "it is the language of my homeland though the tale is not mine. Your music awakened a memory of a friend who used to sing that song, far better than I ever could." Soronūmė noticed that there were more than the maiden's eyes looking upon him now.
|