The Green Dragon - Part 2

[Maegaladiel]

--Pio and everyone else: Sorry about my last (and first) post, I totally forgot about the
whole double-spacing thing. Thanks for putting up with me!-- MAE

Nahai seemed pleased with the reaction to her offer. Smiling politely, she pulled up a chair next to the one who called himself...what was it?...Bali? Most embarrassingly, name
recognition was never her strong point.

“And what do you call yourself, lass?” asked one of the men at the table.

“I am Nahai, daughter of Silhinui. I come from the Carrock, near Mirkwood. In search of
adventure.” The gent’s eyes widened at this response.

“The Carrock? Surely this cannot be, for if it was, you would be--”

“A skin-changer? Yes, this is true.” the woman interrupted. This resulted in several raised eyebrows, and one or two people took an uneasy step backwards. The possibility of
offending a woman who could probably become a carnivorous beast was not overly
appealing to most. Nahai couldn’t blame them.

A passing elf, overhearing the remark, temporarily postponed his quest for ale to
investigate this interesting prospect.

“A shape-shifter, milady? Rarely are such wildflowers found in a garden like this,” he said.
The fair elf pulled up a chair, much to the disappointment of a nearby dwarf. Ignoring him, the elf continued.

“And what tales would you bring to our good table, milady?” He gave a dazzling smile,
one that Nahai gladly returned. This was too much for the dwarf.

“OUR table?!” He grumbled, “I don’t remember inviting you, Master Elf!” Those
tree-hugging, foolish, show-off elves made his blood boil. A man chuckled and patted his
shoulder.

“Be calm, friend,” he said. “All are welcome in the Green Dragon Inn.” He turned back to
Nahai. “Please, tell us your tale.”

The lady Shifter smiled and began. She wove a brilliant tapestry with her words, telling the folklore of her people. Her listeners were drawn in as the deeds and exploits of dark
wizards, brave shape-changers, dragons, gryffins, and magical talking beasts unfolded
before them. Their eyes remained glued upon her, but her own wandered around the
tavern, observing the patrons as they carried on their activities. A wounded, dirtied elf sat in a corner. Several maids and hobbit-lasses were locked in conversation in another. And
every now and then, she almost thought she saw the characteristic orange/red of a fox’s
tail in the kitchen. She longed to hear their stories, to learn of their adventures. Perhaps she would some day.

Nahai’s story ended. For a moment, her audience was silent. Her eyes lowered, suddenly embarrased. Then, as though released from a spell, they began to applaud. Now her eyes
lowered again, not from shame, but from delight and modesty.

“Another!” roared one of her new fans. Nahai laughed quietly.

“In a moment,” she said. “What shall it be about next?” The dwarf jumped at the
opportunity.

“Something less happy.” he grunted. “All I’ve heard all day was bright and sickeningly sweet love tales from that babbling fool over there.” He jabbed a stubby thumb over his shoulder at a preposterous looking minstrel in a heavilly-plumed hat, strumming some stringed
instrument. Nahai laughed again; a sound like a babbling brook in springtime.

“When I return,” she said, “I shall tell you the tale of a warrior named Kai. That should
suit you better. But first, I must have a drink. My throat is parced from my yarn-weaving.” The gentlemen laughed.

She walked to the bar and ordered an ale. As she sipped, she saw the wounded elf slump
in his seat, a pained expression on his face. She set down her mug quickly and went to his aid.

“Good sir,” she asked, concern marked on her brow, “Are you well?”