The Psychotic Elf (Continued)

[Halbereth Diagona]

Sorell shook her hand off his head, and curled up further.The tears had stopped, but the pain was there. He could not blot out the picture of Mirkwood, with its trees glistening in the eve light, the moon wafting high above their branches, the soft twilight song of the faeries as they darted around and in & out of the dense canopies, in impulsive games of chase. The forest floor was wet and dewy, a strange aromatic smoke lifting and blowing lazily over it, and the dry, fallen leaves thick on the bluey grass.
Sorell whimpered from homesickness and Nayru's hand came back onto his head. Although it wasn't excatly welcome, he didn't shake it off. At long last, he felt himself being placed on a soft bed, and he fell asleep, into an uneasy sleep in which a picture of his home vanished into smoke and dust. He unconciously grabbed at the air to keep some to him, but his slender fingers closed over nothing. He twisted and turned, the uncomfortable sensation of being watched always there, and his hot, feverish brow felt on fire.
>dun ask wots going on i have no idea. Maybe he's delirious...<