"OOps" Lyra nearly fell over. She wasn't entirely sure why she was walking around. Surely it would have made more sense to sit down when her head was pounding so? Eagerly looking around she found a chair. Just Hobbit sized, oh good.
Strange people came up to talk to her. Anuion, staring round eyed at his date, Aman talked to her. He's paying close attention to his grammar she thought with a smile. She was about to compliment him when she realised he'd already stopped posting and wandered off. Back to the beautiful Aman, no doubt. Next were a pair of Elves, at least she thought they were- her vision was blurring a little by then. They talked for a while before wandering off Elf stalking.
"Hello Lyra! Glad you came, as if you'd miss this," Lyra turned to face a strange woman. All the others paled in comparison. She was just not Tolkien! "Did you hear about my new sword? The Heron Mark blade? Too bad those mangy 'security' orcs to it away."
A name swam into Lyra's head, shaking she cleared it. That can't be right! All the signs of tipsyness had vanished. It was very odd, but then this was a completely freeplaying party.
"Rytien?" she asked. "You know how we feel about swords"
Lyra shook her head again. Maybe the effects hadn't gone as much as she thought. Where had that come from? And why did she suddenly feel the urge to dance? As she stood to the strains of the macarena, she thought that perhaps this was not what she had meant by dancing. Still, she was a Hobbit from the Shire, and she wanted to macarena!
"Care to dance, Treekiller?"
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“Sylphs of the forest,” I whispered. “Spirits of oak, beech and ash. Dryads of Rowan and hazel, hear us. You who have guided and guarded our every footstep, you who have sheltered our growth, we honour you."
the Forbidden Link
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