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Logs-Shire trip: Questioning a Gardener Great
Smials: Garden A merry tune
announces the arrival of a hobbit maiden, carrying a small basket. She
wanders past the statues sits down at the border to remove weeds from
between the flowers. Birds join her in her song, or so it seems. Unaware of
the strangers passing the little hobbit continues her song and work, only
to pause for a brief instance in harmony with the birds who, more attentive
then mortal hobbits, do notice this stranger and pause their singing.
Perhaps some part of her has noticed a change, or perhaps just to contemplate
her next task, the little hobbit looks up for moment at the trees, but
rather then trees she sees a grey shade floating past. Crystalline eyes are drawn to the birds and their song; a briefly bemused smile gracing her features and once she whistles- an imperfect imitation of a birds' call, and yet strangely close to the real noise... As the singing; both bird and hobbit stop, the tall figure continues on momentarily... and then she pauses- eyes sweeping over the garden... Stooping, she plucks a red flower and holds it poised between her fingers, and then turns to regard the hobbit.. "You are the gardener here?" She asks, her tone soft and gentle yet one containing a certain amount of doubt and weariness; voice melodious and tinged with an accent strange to these parts. Large eyes
stare up at the huge stranger, muster her robes, staff and eyes in amazement.
But the sound of the strangers' voice breaks the spell and quickly the
little hobbit jumpes to her feet. Kindly eyes
watch down on the hobbit though the stranger stands still now, and unmoving..
At the greeting, the hooded head is bowed slowly, and then raised again;
"I am Ailith Raynil... Head Gardener?" The voice sounds considerate;
thoughtful... Eyes again sweep across the garden, and then that head is
turned from one side to the other in a shake.. "No. A gardener is
fine, even a gardener who is not head. I am looking for something; perhaps
you can help me..." "A herb," Comes the stranger's voice, though her attention is now fixed on the flower being twirled between slender fingers... "It is called caranlas.. or redleaf. As the name suggests, the leaves are red.. it grows only in the sunlight, and smells faintly of salt... I have seen it once before in the Shire, but we have searched many places here and have not again found it..." "Red leaves ... " Clary whispers, without seeing her eyes stare beyond the stranger, "I don't think," she starts to say after a few momets, "No, I have seen no herbs with red leafs that smell like salt anywhere near here. Or anyplace else I have been." She looks around the border as if the herb might suddenly appear between the flowers, "No, where did you find them before?" A sigh escapes the stranger's lips and briefly her shoulders slump- a sense of disappointment hanging over her.. "It was many long years ago, the first and last time I saw this plant, to the north and east of the Shire, if my memory serves me well.. But I have travelled to this place ere this day and only wildflowers grew where that sickly caranlas plant once stood.. Very well.. I thank-you for your assistance. I know at least that this is another garden I need not search..." Clary shakes her head, "No, never been to the northeast meself. I am sorry that I could not be of more help to you then that," Clary looks up at the stranger, "You look tired, can I help you with anything else, something to eat or drink?" "Ah.. It is no problems, young Clary Smallburrow. One can not be expected to know more than they know, and one certainly cannot be expected to know everything there is to know.. What you have told me is help enough.." Grattitude in her voice now, Ailith straightens and looks back the way she had come.. At the offer, she seems to consider, and then she shakes her head... "I am afraid I must decline.. I still have much of the Shire to search and the day is drawing ever on... It has been a pleasure to meet you, Clary Smallburrow, and I thank-you again for your help." With a nod of her head in farewell, the stranger then turns and retraces her steps- following the path away from the garden and whence she came; soon disolving into the shifting shadows of the trees by the road, into which she walks. "Good
luck with your search," Clary says to the stranger, "and a good
day." Her eyes follow the stranger as she walks out of the garden,
then she return to her duties.
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