The image of the unknown elf lord from her memory stayed sharp with Naaramare despite her embarrassment and the odd looks she got from a couple of the party. She hadn't meant to yelp like that, but being able to hold onto anything of the past--even something so pittantly small and unimportant--made her want to dance in rejoicing.
A practical side of her pointed out that the image was useless. Any description she could give from it would apply to far too many elves--after all, how many tall, dark-haired and grey-eyed males were there in the world?
She ordered that practical side to be silent.
At Arcon's return, she sighed in relief. His horse might be hurt, but he wasn't. She returned his smile, then heard Bethberry say that she was in no shape to get water.
"Bethberry, where is the stream? I can go get water for Arcon's herbs."
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