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'Who are you ... and what do you seek .. ?' He drew back, looking at the ground, and the old tiles that crumbled apart, sprouting dead grasses and small bugs that crawled about. 'And who .. is the man with the staff?'
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Holly could only make out part of his words, and then only if he looked straight at her, so that she could watch his mouth move as he spoke. He was beautiful. She reached out her hand to touch the side of his face, feeling only a small frisson of coolness as she neared it.
‘You have a lovely voice.’ she said. ‘Sorry to have disturbed your singing.’
Bird crawled up to her collar and now perched very near her ear. ‘Don’t say too much!’ she warned in a low voice. ‘Who knows who he might tell. Wouldn’t want old mad Maladil out here swinging his sword in our faces.’
Unheeding, Holly answered his question in part. ‘I’m Holly. A Hobbit from the Shire.’ She reached for her sketch pad and the drawing charcoal in her pack. ‘Who might you be?’ Her hand began hurriedly sketch him, his evanescent form back lit by moonlight . . .