[Bêthberry]

The not-Queen Saladriel composed herself as best she could, her face filled with the unsurpassed beauty of the ages and shining as if bejewelled with the light of new love. She was moved, nay, deeply touched, at the thoughtful and caring and considerate ways of the Dwarf and she paused to admire with plenitude the deft and dexterous and nimble ways of Kuruharan's fingers as he skillfully repaired the sundered Bowl.

"True indeed it is said that the skill of dwarves is in their hands rather than their tongues."

"Yes, yes, whatever you wish, my dwarven darling," she spoke with a hushed tone which was barely heard over the loud gaffaws and snorts of Chrysophylax, who was becoming quite exercised in his own way, wondering if the Bowl would ever bring forth something to him a little more substantial than this vegetable matter.

"Here, I offer up to you what none have e're earned in so bold an action. And may your hands flow with gold over it." So saying, Saladriel retreated to discuss the affair with several of her handbunnies, er handhares, who seemed none too displeased with the exchange. More volunteered than were strictly necessary, so Saladriel chose the comliest and handed them over to Kuruharan.

Unseen in the light of her surprising ritual of gift-giving were the actions of poor, forelorn, heart-broken Halfullion, whose watery sorrows were not so great as to keep him from noticing that some of the handbunnies, er, handhares, had been overlooked. He was quick to whisper sweet and not so sweet enharements in their ears, whereupon he departed, consoled in his misery by several of them.

[ February 04, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]