Is it Just the Wind?

Heart of the Forest

The air is warm here, beneath the trees, though it stirs only fitfully in the slight breeze. Overhead, the light of the moon peeks through the canopy of leaves roofing over the small clearing here by the path. There is no underbrush here, and the great trees of yew and hawthorn, hazel and majestic oak rise from the ground like towers, reaching into the sky above. From somewhere in the forest, not too far away, come the soft calls of birds, their songs mingling beneath the trees.

There is an air of solemnity here, and tranquility, as though this place has always been as peaceful as it is now. Past the edges of the clearing, occasionally small animals can be seen furtively moving among the trees, as though less afraid in this enchanted seeming place. The ground is a springy loam, rich and dark, but broken by outcroppings of dark stone. There is a path leading up the hill, which might be the same having been trodden by the slender valley deer, and perhaps more wonderful things, for a thousand centuries.

From between the boughs of the magnificent trees, starlight is cast, making an intricate latice of light all across the ground. The fires from the sky dance on the earth, and speckle the area with a merry score of flickering celestial candles. One star, though, casts its glow peculiarly through the trees. Earendil's star comes brightly through two branches, and its radiance comes to rest upon a great tree at the head of the clearing, shaped like a great circle of light.

Soft falls the veil of summer, to embrace the lands beneath, as a golden wash slowly starts to flood soil and trees... Silver and gold clash above, for the hour is an early one, despite the temperature being one pleasant, so seem to agree the birds, several of them offering the wakening Anar their most gracious thrills and whirls. Thus is greeted a new morn, a lone spectator standing hither in the Heart of the Forest -- eyes upturned to the sky...

...or? Clad in green and grey it is the Tellenistron Telelas who rises tall, silver locks graces by the early light of sun and yet his attention seems not to reside with the sky above... and instead falls heavy and curious on a particular tree. A brow he frowns, peering up closely at the leaf-shielded branches.

Light footsteps are heard, though only by elven ears for to any other race they would be silent. A maiden can be seen, walking into this place, her sunkissed hair bound tightly into a braid. It swings only slightly as she moves, though on occasion she needs to duck from some of the branches. Her face is tranquil, aloof but there is a storm hidden in her icy blue eyes. This is Lindir, Hiril nos Olormaranwe.

The argentine glow of moonlight and stars is slowly overcome by the warmer light of day, filtering down through the canopy to flicker across the pale face of an elleth ever watchful with each step through the wood. Soft footfalls do not betray her arrival, for Fenelin is light in frame as well as face. A certain serenity plays across delicate features, though as her gaze falls upon the Tellenistron, a glimmer of curiosity creeps into her deep green eyes.

Yet the Tellenistron does not move, for surely something most interesting has caught his attention.

His eyes do not trail from the tree, almost wary in his stance...

Though the morning is filled with birdsong, a great many chirps and whistles, more conversational than melodious, can be heard within the boughs of one of the smaller trees. There, two feet hang down, peeking out of flowing robes. Menelwen, friend to all the denizens of the sky, sits atop a branch in his morning meeting with representatives from the various birds of the valley. Sparrows, finches, swallows, and others sit around him, some even having lighted on his shoulders, and they chirp to him happily. In turn, he smiles and whistles back, head bobbing from side to side much those of his feathered friends.

The Noldo's storm-ridden eyes catch the figure of the Tellenistron. Moving quickly out of the way of a branch, just barely in her way, Lindir strides over to him, but with a light step. "Telelas, ah. You are one I need to speak to. Out seeking the solace of the trees as well?"

Yet as words rise -- akin the swiftest wind -- Telelas turns. A finger he lifts to his lips, pressing gently as he offers the Noldo a most stern look. And he seems most grave, the Tellenistorn, gaze shifting from the Hiryl to the tree and back.

As well he remarks the presence of others, tilting briefly his gaze to lend all other quendi a look of warning.

Menelwen raises an eyebrow as he receives a stern look, and he turns to the sparrow on his shoulder, tweeting at it with tightly pressed lips. The sparrow tilts its head, listening, before fluttering away to land near Telelas' foot. It looks up at him and chirps a question.

What then lies hither for mystery?

Indeed the Heart is place to many a riddle, secrets kept by the forest and which not many quende are allowed to witness. And so here stands this one tree, fair and tall. Branches rise prominent, richly adorned with leaves blessed with a colour of darkest green. But...

A shiver goes through the branches... and another! Leaves stir to produce a rustling noise, how strange.

A single step further does Fenelin take, drawing closer to tree by which Telelas stands. Yet she lingers still a good many paces away as she makes note of the Tellenistron's silent warning, the urgency in his manner halting her movement in midstep. Green eyes narrow to a focused stare as they rise up into the leaves of the tree.

Spotting a sparrow nigh his boot, briefly Telelas is distracted. Curiously he peers down at the small bird, yet then a noise attracts his attention. With a sudden light leap the Tellenistron backs away, concern returning to his features.

Taken somewhat aback, the Hiril nos Olormaranwe nods to the younger Sinda. Her lips press together into a thin line. Lindir stands next to the Tellinistron now, looking down at him from her great height.

As the leaves move upon the tree, the Hirdan's eyebrow raises. "I felt no wind... did thee, mellon?"

The Suiladdan is taking a walk in the forest to clear his head and his heart. He walks up the forest path to find several quendi in the Heart of the Forest. Approaching the clearing, he walks silently, not wishing to disturb whatever is going on ahead.

With rising distrust Telelas regards the tree.

It seems the Forester is not at all at ease with what just now has occurred. Only when the Hiril speaks, does the Tellenistron turn, nodding towards her. "Aye, mellon." whispers he then, "No wind... and thus this is most strange."

Menelwen raises another eyebrow, looking down at the tree he currently sits in curiously. It does not move without wind, and he is somewhat relieved. The sparrow next to Telelas turns to look at the strange tree now, and then it hops behind Telelas' leg, peering out curiously. Menelwen whistles to it--a soft warning.

Only as the others speak does Fenelin dare continue her advance anew. Silent steps carry her to the Hiril's side, daring not a formal greeting under such circumstances as these. "Peculiar indeed," is her muttered response to such a mysterious disturbance.

The Hiril's head tilts to the right. "I remember. When Oremir was here still, there was a tree who moved on it's own. Though, it moved completely, roots and all...." Her voice trails off as her ice blue eyes catch Tuilindo entering. Her eyes do not meet his, but rather play across his face before moving away from his person.

As he enters the clearing, the Suiladdan sees two that he knows, LIndir and Telelas. The others Tuilindo doesn't recognize. Walking across the clearing that is the Heart of the Forest, he looks up at the tree that everyone seems to be concerned with.

Slowly Telelas nods to the Hiril, but his eyes are again with the tree. "A walking one... roots and all?" echoes the forester with a light hint of alarm, brows knitting into a most concerned frown. "Pray what foul magic was that then..." And at this a thought strikes him, visage lightening.

"Or..." turning he beholds Lindir, "Think ye the presence of Mithrandir might cause strange occurrings? I am not one to easily believe in rumors... but..." and meaningful he nods.

Lindir thinks for a long moment, her already storm-ridden eyes clouding over. "I believe it was something with Oremir. A turbulance in her fea." The Hiril seems only half assured of her answer. "The Galthor were more interested than I. A moving tree.. Of what import is that to a smith?"

Hearing the words of Lindir and Telelas, Tuilindo's brow knits in thought. He looks up at the tree, studying it and remembering.

Fenelin raises a slender eyebrow in a most quizzical fashion as the words between the Hiril and Tellenistron fall upon young, curious ears. The elleth's gaze flickers between the two, her curiosity now marred by an apparent hesitance.

It would seem the tree has heard enough or perhaps disagrees with what is said. With more force now the branches move, leaves rustling audibly... yet there is still no wind!

Menelwen remains seated where he is, though he grips his branch more tightly, and several of his small friends, hop up onto his lap and hide partially behind the folds of his robes. The sparrow moves back further, hopping up onto Fenelin's shoulder.

At more noises -- this time even stronger -- the forester indeed startles, and another leap he takes back. Nervously he eyes the Hiril, ere seeking the other quende. "Mellon!" cries he, as eyes grow wide, "It moved anew, what trickery is this..." Clear now glimmers the suspicion in the Tellenistron's gaze, eying the tree warily.

He even goes as far raise a hand and rest on the longbow that is on his back. "I trust this not, mellyn... I know the forest and yet this I have not ever seen."

Her countenance now fully evidencing her unrest, Fenelin takes another stumbled step back away from the tree, her hand drifting instinctively to the hilt of the dagger at her right hip.

The rustling of the leaves does not seem to rattle Lindir, though it might some other elves. "At least there is no one dancing this time..." The Hiril's voice is light at her jest. Glancing over toward Telelas, she speaks in all seriousness, "Perhaps Iluial should be contacted in this.."

"Hiril Lindir, have you heard the tale of the treeherds who destroyed an orc army in one of the wars of Beleriand?" Tuilindo gazes at the tree, trying to remember. "This tree reminds me of such a tale I heard long ago."

Audibly Telelas snorts, facing Lindir as if she had just gravely insulted him. "Are you jesting, mellon? The Tauron would have difficulty to stiffle his laughter and mock me in front of all. For if this tree walks as the one you described I have little trust it shall await patiently while I venture to report to the Tauron. Nay... we shall solve this now."

Most brave words... and yet Telelas does little to proceed. Nervously he eyes the tree, smiling then faintly at the Hiril. "Mellon..." coughs he somewhat embarrassed, "You are more knowledged then I... in languages and in old Lore. Could you perhaps... well attempt to speak with it?"

And as Tuilindo speaks of trees, Telelas faces him, frown deepening.

A soft sigh comes from the lips of the Hiril. "The only lanagauge that I could think of to talk to a tree, would be that of the Ents. And I know none of that tongue, I fear." Lindir glances over to Tuilindo, her tone seeming to formalize as she speaks to him. "I doubt this would be one of those. Most of Beleriand is underwater right now."

Not quite sure how to take the Hiril's words, Tuilindo replies, still looking at the tree, "Yes, I know, but if they lived in Beleriand with the trees there, then why not here as well?"

"Well if those trees can walk... why could they not have eluded the wrath of the Valar?" remarks the forester, "Mellon-Tuilindo might have a point, Hiril. Beings powerful enough to beat an army of yrch, obviously possess a mind of their own and a keen one indeed."

And as Tuilindo offers his own explanation, Telelas nods his approval.

"If this were a tree of that kind, would we not have discovered it long ago?" Lindir shakes her head at the two younger quendi. "Nay, we must look for a reason of a different kind. Much as with Oremir disrupting the valley, so too may this be the case. Though, the humans could not do something as this." A sneer nearly appears upon the Hiril's creamy features. "There must be another cause.."

Perfectly still the tree stands now. Almost if it were waiting for something.

"Perhaps..." murmurs Telelas, still not entirely convinced. But he takes one step forward, closer to the tree.

"So you say there is nothing to fear?" wonders he aloud, blinking curiously towards the Hiril. "Then..." swallowing thickly the Tellenistron takes another step forward. "There should be no harm in attempting a look..."

Menelwen still remains in his tree, and in a soft voice he says, "Perhaps it wishes to be left alone? I do not know if we should pester it so. Perhaps it is been here a long time."

The Hiril shakes her head. "If it was going to harm us, it would have done so by now." A soft sigh comes from Lindir's lips, though she does not move forward to investigate the tree.

Anxiously Telelas looks towards Tuilindo, as if to see how ready he is to investigate.

Tuilindo steps closer to the tree, studying the bark. Speaking softly, he says, "Treeherd, explain yourself. Why have you chosen to place yourself here? What can we do to help you?"

Silence offers the tree to the query of the elf, looming hither, towering above the frail being.

But the elf shall not be left without an answer, a shiver going through the branches, more fierce as before, shaking leaves, some severed from their branch and slowly drifting down.

Menelwen again repeats, "Maybe we should leave it alone. Surely it does no harm in this forest." His voice is tentative, however, for he rarely converses with the likes of the Lindir or Telelas.

Lindir glances up toward Menelwen. "Perhaps you are correct, mellon. If it has not hurt us as yet, it will not now. Let us tell Herdir Elrond of this." The storm inside of the Hiril's eyes seems to lose some of its shine. Almost as if a wariness has overtaken the Noldo.

Looking more intrigued by the tree's movements than startled, Tuilindo nods slightly to the tree after it finishes its shivering, then he steps back to the others.

Carefully Telelas studies Tuilindo, frowning a brow, for surely he is curious. "Well?" asks he, convinced the elf learned somewhat, "Could you decipher it's needs, did it speak in rustles, or in thoughts?"

Staring at Lindir slowly the edhel shakes his head. "Nay, I wish to know what causes this mystery. Always have there been strange things here in the Heart, and just as easily they disappear... I will not leave ere having found the truth..." A firm nod and another step the Tellenistron takes towards the tall 'bush'.

"Just a tree..." murmurs he.

Glancing at Telelas before looking back at the tree, Tuilindo answers, "I think it wants our help, maybe to just let it rest here awhile. I didn't hear its thoughts, and I am not skilled in divining the meaning behind rustles and shivers. It will take more than my skill to figure out its specific intent."

"Then why did you nod as if you had unraveled a most grave secret!" blurts the Tellenistron somewhat annoyed, not too glad perhaps to find himself opposed to such a thing of mystery.

Smiling to himself, the Suiladden speaks in a light tone. "I just thought I'd acknowledge its message in some way. It seemed the proper thing to do." Tuilindo looks over at the annoyed Telelas. "This is a tree, nothing more or less. Just more awake than the others that surround us."

Lindir nods to Tuilindo. "It is as he says, Telelas. Only a tree. If it will stop doing this when we leave, than it will stop and therefore it will still be nothing but a tree." The Hiril glances up at the tree before taking a step back.

"I have spend over 600 years in the company of these 'trees' you speak off." replies Telelas in an even voice, "And have not ever seen a tree being so 'awake' as you seem to name it. And so..." he takes a deep breath, freeing the longbow from his back as he offers it to the Hiril, "I will climb this one as I have climbed many others, to find what stirs this one..."

The forester seems determant, eyes slowly investigating this looming green and brown shadow that causes so much worry. "Hold my bow, Hiril?" and without awaiting a reply he tosses it towards the elven woman.

Lindir catches the bow deftly with one hand, shaking her head at the young edhel. Yet she says nothing more.

Craning his neck to look up, Tuilindo watches as Telelas disappears into the foliage.

Menelwen frowns with slight apprehension as Telelas climbs, and his curious sparrow companion flies over to the tree, fluttering around it and trying to see the intrepid edhel.

All seems well, as the tree does not move, not even when elven hands grab it's lower branches and still not when the same elf climbs higher, to disappear into the foliage.

Still then, moments after the elf has disappeared, more urgently then ever the tree starts to rustle, leaves tossed and shaken!

The sparrow starts to chirp with great alarm, and its darting and swooping becomes more frenzied as it looks for Telelas.

 Still the Hiril seems calm, though her eyes betray... worry? "Perhaps that was not such a good idea..." Slowly, she begins to hum, a wordless tune which grows somewhat louder, in hopes of placating the... tree.

Tuilindo remains where he is, intend on watching the tree's movements, as if they have a clue to what it wants.

And then a shriek rises crystal clear, the voice of the forester! For it seems he likes it little to find the tree moving on it's own, without aid of the mighty winds! So it seems the Hiril's song would have but little effect... or at least is not needed long....

For downwards comes a lean frame, Telelas, almost jumping from halfway straight down to get out of the strange foliage, finding support in lower branches not to collide harshly with the ground. A moment longer he lingers, swinging, ere he drops himself, face struck with fear. Without further word the edhel starts to back away, frightful eyes remaining with the tree as he moves away swifter and swifter!

Till he is almost entirely away from the Heart.

The Hiril abruptly halts her song as the Tellinistron comes flying out of the tree. Seeming calm, Lindir looks at the tree, eyes no wider than normal, but silent this time. "Most unusual..." she says finally, not taking her eyes from the wooden majesty.

The tree is pleased with this. For leaves grow at ease, rustles fading, though it remains uncertain what causes this sudden peace. The song or the properly daunted edhel cowering away?

 Menelwen frowns now as Telelas comes outo f the tree, and he asks, "Did you see anything? Perhaps it is not the tree, but something already inside of it? Maybe a type of beast wandered here?" Menelwen's sparrow friend seems to have had enough of this, as it suddenly darts into the upper foliage of the tree to investigate.

But the forester spares little time for the remaining quende. Easily he leaves the Heart and disappears between the trees, away from sight.

And as the sparrow enters the foliage, again leaves rustle...

And the bird does not return.

Only now does the Hiril take a step back. "I think, perhaps, that now would be a good time to depart from this place..."

Fenelin's eyes remain trained the upper branches of the tree even in her cautious retreat. "A course of action most advisable, Hiril. Let us be off then..." Her words are stammered, a slender hand remaining a wrist's flicker from the dagger at her hip as she backs slowly away from the curious tree.

Yet as the remaining elves make move to leaves the Heart, be they cautious or somewhat frightened, a sudden clear sound rises high to greet the rising morn. A tinkling of crystal bells, if somewhat heavier, a flow of purest merit, ringing oh so loud! For in such volume calls the laughter of... the Tellenistron, appearing at the rim of the Heart!

Eyes shine silver, laughter generously shared, even if it is in mild mockery, quende fooled... Ere they might comprehend what occurred, off he goes, disappearing easily into the woods he knows so well. What safer haven can he seek?

The sound of laughter breaks Lindir's gaze from the tree, though her cautious nature remains. She notices the figure of her Arphadon, an eyebrow raising as he laughs. "Back already, Telelas?" her voice is low, confusion in an undertone.

Another shake from the tree, and lo! there is the sparrow! It seems unharmed, flying fro and free, a happy thrill flowing from it's beak.

And what is this? More noises rise now, at least more audible perhaps, rustling moved towards lower branches as a small head perks from betwixt the foliage. Furry, two coral black eyes blinking at those silly elves standing below, perhaps wondering why they had lingered so long to bother an innocent beast as these here... squirrels. For another pops up, as apparently these two have found a place for their nest. 

Golden brown locks whip about Fenelin's shoulders as she whirls around to behold the returned Tellenistron, captured by a fit of laughter. Blushing lips part as if she would speak, but no words forth from them shall pass, for the elleth's confusion is now slow to fade it would seem.

The Noldo merely shakes her head. "So much for trying to get some peace in the valley." And she stalks off, eyes still clouded with storms, though perhaps there is a bit of lightning to be seen now as well.

An indignant cry comes from the squirrels, ere they retreat and stir the tree some more. Leaving no doubt it was only the effort of these animals, and the oddity of the Tellenistron to create the illussion that aught was amiss... And so it seems for now the Valley remains bereft of such a legend as the trees that walk and talk, for this one surely is not one of those...

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