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Logs-Linnelei meets Rosgwaen SHIRE
TIME IC Time is 11:16 PM on Sunday, Afterlithe (July) 15, 1431 S.R. IC
Weather Conditions:
at Stock
Road Somewhere to the south of the road, the ash of a campfire stirs in what weak winds find their way between the dense boles of the trees. Somewhere among the trees, the summer night lies warm and still, and dark, for want of moonlight. Still-- but for a grey figure among the oaks, tall and broad-shouldered, with a grace of movement that belies the solid form shrouded by his cloak. He stoops, and beneath the shadows of his hood, eyes of cold green seem almost to flicker, intent, in what vague starlight finds them. A pale hand passes over the earth beside a hoar tree-root. And then another movement breaks the stillness; one holding the same grace as the other, though one that moves with a certain amount of uncertainty as it approaches; as one lost, perhaps, or unsure of their way... The face is hidden beneath a drawn hood- as if the hood would be needed in the warm air; yet it is drawn and the features beneath are hidden save for those two eyes- blue, and holding as much caution in them as her movements which bring her closer yet to the camp until she is entering and going to pause and observe her surroundings.. Cautious movement which have begun to grow weary- of walking, perhaps.. Slowly, slowly, he turns, drawing himself to his full height with no more haste than the winds that wander in the dark. His voice is moodless and hushed: the tongue of the Grey-elves, spoken with an accent, though light, that is so very rare in these lands. "You are not one among the Sickly... their kind does not move with such silence." A pause, as if concealed by his hood, eyes measure the other's mien. "Well met." And a deep nod, sober and solemn. "Well met. I deem that I know your errand... or at the least, I would that it will prove so." So she pauses; lingering on the edge of uncertainty, blue eyes looking ahead and through the darkness to regard the stranger there...And then she too speaks, though with a volume only slightly above a mutter, curiosity is held in her tone.. "Sickly? No, I do not think so..." Puzzlement would become apparent on her face- were it visible from beneath the hood.. though a smile has graced her features, however tiny and almost invisible, it is there nonetheless... "Well met.. My errand? I have come to find a camp where I may stay.. I presume this is the camp, here.." A nod of her head is directed to the surrounds. He nods at this, unsmiling, drawing back his hood. The countenance revealed is proud and pale, his features well-formed if neither fine nor sharp, his chin strong. A loose queue of golden hair disappears into his cloak, its hue little darker than his skin. "Yea. It is a camp," nigh-silent steps draw him nearer to her, "though a small one. My kinsman who makes camp with me has taken leave for a time, yet as for myself, you are welcome to join us." The foreign tones of his speech still ripple beneath the surface of his soft voice. "I thought perhaps that you, too, seek for the herb to heal the trees... but perhaps it is not so." As the stranger is revealed, she too decides to remove her own hood; her own face rather pale in comparison to hair, which appears jet black in the darkness. "A small camp is better than no camp at all, and I would much rather a small camp tonight than one teeming with activity.. though I thank-you for the invitation, and I shall join you.." she says, inclining her head just slightly; grateful smile becoming apparent on her lips. "I would search for such a herb, if I had known that it was needed.. I am a healer myself, though I did not know that the trees had become ill until this moment..." she says- a question in her voice as her head now tilts to the side; curiosity and puzzlement now evident, though hidden in those blue eyes which regard him intently. Broad shoulders rise and fall as a breath is slowly drawn, slowly released in a sigh: now, for the first time, a distance replaces the stoic chill in his eyes. "The tale is long, but... to speak of it in brief... "I was among the party that checked upon the health of a mast tree grove in the Tower Hills. Some were in health-- but for others, it was not so. And alas." He watches her, like one who seeks for the recognition of a now-familiar tale. "Thindrif, is the illness called. Greybark-blight. There is but a single cure: the herb caranlas-- redleaf-- but it does not grow beside the Sea. Have you happened upon such an herb in your travels, mellon, and know you where it might be found?" One eyebrow is raised as the sigh reaches her ears, and then a brief frown replaces this as she hears the tale. Only slight recognition can be registered upon her features at the news of the trees- perhaps word had reached her after all, though, for a long time she remains silent- having fallen into thought and memories.. "I have happened upon it once, though it was only once, and many years ago.. Caranlas?" Her brows furrow again in thought- hands coming to fold before her, "I remember it, and it was in the Shire.. It has red leaves, if it is the same herb which I am thinking of?" Something in his green eyes shifts of a sudden, and so unguarded are they for a fleeting moment that it is almost as if some veil of rain is lifted from his mien. "Verily," he intones, a strange, guarded restlessness upon his words, "verily, 'tis the same. A delicate thing, with leaves of deep red that bear faintly the scent of the salt of the Sea. How many are the years that have passed since last you saw this thing? And if I ask not overmuch, by what name are you known? For I would give thanks as is meet for these glad tidings." A brief smile- one slightly amused now crosses her face and she stands still and unmoving beneath the blanket of darkness. "I thought as much; indeed I have seen this herb before, and I remember if for upon smelling the Sea it called me home again; though I was going home already... It has been many years, though I do not know the number.. But I have not passed by that way since, for my finding of that plant was an accident and I had thought no more of it until tonight.." And now she pauses again; momentarily reminiscent, and then snapped awake again by the question. "I am known as Linnelei, though I do not think my tidings are so glad, for when I first and last saw this herb it did not look well or that it should live on for many years after.. still, I ask the question back to you; that I may know how to call you, since I am to be staying in this camp with you..." "And I am Rosgwaen Golfingund, son of Moedhim" he returns, his sombre nod akin to a bow, "yet I am Turon Mistradion in those few friendly lands between the Havens and the Mountains of Mist." He pauses, and gradually his pale-tressed head gains a considering tilt. "To answer your words: is not some measure of hope, however small, ever a glad thing? A seaman will look to but a single star for guidance when the firmament grows dark. I thank you, Linnelei, small though you deem your tidings may be." Linnelei nods her head in response to recieving his name, though, gradually those eyes are lowered and she nods her head again. "What you say is true.. we can only hope that it lives still where I had seen it.. though I need no thanks; it is my pleasure to aid where I can, and if it is trees who are sickly then I am more than happy to offer what information I know..." she says, another smile gracing her lips but momentarily- though it is a smile which doesn't quite touch her eyes, and not one full of happiness but sadness instead. And Mistradion's eyes seek hers, no greater measure of mirth held within. "I thank you once more, for ever am I grateful for another to join in this quest. There is one who wished not to come, in the end... perhaps her mind will be changed, having heard that there is some chance the redleaf may be found in this land. Perhaps she need but wait with her husband in the Tower Hills, and we shall return soon, herb in hand." Little true hope finds his gaze, but there is something dogged there, and certain. "But this land is not small, and many are the villages of warrens that I would not pass through, save in dire need and beneath the cover of night. Where in the Shire did you happen upon this herb?" Blue
eyes glance up again, and there meet his- one slender eyebrow arching
in unspoken question, though in no question in particular. "I am
glad then, for I am eager to help in the search, though still I need no
thanks, but if thanks must be given, then you are welcome. I hope as much
as you that this herb shall be found here, and if not here then close
by here that we shall return quickly..." she says; her own voice
conveying a false sense of hope.. "Then it shall be so," he nods, "though 'tis a shame, I deem, to search beneath the Sun rather than by the light of the stars. Yet Anor may be risen once you have rested and eaten, whether I would or no. I shall hasten, then, to gather wood for a fire, that you may have a proper meal. Take such supplies and rest as you find needful, and fare you well, for a time." And with these words, Mistradion turns, and takes leave into the night-shadows of the wood. A
shrug rolls across Linnelei's shoulders as she regards him and hears his
words. "But if it is day then perhaps I can ask the little-folk if
they know where I might find the herb if it exists still.. Though I thank-you,
then, for it shall be nice indeed to have enough wood for a fire when
I wake! Fare well, until then," she says- blue eyes following him
as he leaves, before she moves to explore the camp further.
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