The beautiful she-elf looked down at her with a startled expression. Peony realized that she had broken her from some thought. She remembered how her father used to tell her when she was little about how the elves spent much of their time in thought, and little in conversation. She weaved a loose strap of leather from her pack between her fingers. She was terribly excited with being able to speak to a real elf.
Quote:
|
“Hello there little one,” said the elf, her voice like a twinkling of bells, “Some call me Luin.”
|
Crystal blue eyes looked down at the elf from the cowl of a dark cloak. A wisp of brown hair also peered out as if trying to soak up a bit of sun.
“Luin?” Peony stopped for a moment.
Just Luin? Usually, elvish names are longer. Shrugging it off she smiled and jump-hopped to keep up with the long legged she-elf. “Nice to meet you Luin. I’m a hobbit, from Pincup.” The name didn’t show any familiarity on the elf’s face so Peony continued. “It’s in the Shire.” The hobbit looked at the elf for any reply. Receiving none she averted her gaze to their surroundings. Dead animals were strewn in the fields; flies buzzing around their heads. Peony shivered and thought suddenly of home.
She had not been concerned on the well being of her family. She figured that they would be able to fend for themselves like they always have been able to.
But, she realized,
we’ve never been faced with such a tragic situation before, such as this one. Fiddling uncomfortably with the pocket on her skirt, she dismissed the thoughts from her head and tried to take in a breath of fresh air. Instead, the horrid stench of the disease filled her nose and mouth and she tried to cough it away. Wrinkling up her face in frustration she searched frantically for something to do. No body seemed to fell like talking, she had already had an apple, and the scenery was not nice for the looking. The tension was great between them, and an invisible depression hung over them like a rain cloud.
Peony decided to hum whether it was welcome or no.