[Memory of Trees]

Kyria pushed the door open and entered her room. The space was small and plain, but not especially ugly. A bed, an nightstand, a basin and pitcher - it was just as she expected it to be, just as she needed it to be. Perfect.

Strains of of music from the party below floated up through the narrow cracks in the floorboards, and Kyria's feet itched to dance. But no, dancing was out of the question, and she knew this. She should sit still, and wait, wait for Xavier. She must listen, and wait, and not let him down this time, not again. This she knew, and yet still she wanted to dance.

Sinking into a chair, the young elf pressed cold fingers to her aching temples. Be more careful, she chided herself. If you run about crashing into people, it's no more than you deserve. Be more careful next time, watch.

The mellow evening sun made the windowpane glow with soft golden light, shadows from the window dividing the floor into four equal sections of light beneath the window. Kyria rose and went to the window, staring out at the dusty road below. There was no sign of him yet, but soon she would see a cloud of dust rising up the path. She could feel him close.

A pang of hunger made her wince as she caught a delicious whiff of roasting meat coming from downstairs. She was faint with hunger, and it smelled like goot meat, a fine meal. She would eat, but first she must tend to her belonings.

Kyria picked up her sack from where she had dropped it by the door. It was mostly empty, containing only a gown, her maps, and a few other personal items. She plunked it decidedly down on the low bed. There, that was better.

Undoing the drawsting from the sack, Kyria withdrew a pair of long, thick leather gloves. They were black and reached almost to her elbows, and she put them on. She then pulled from the bag a heavy outer robe the sack did not look big enough to contain, and she also put that on. It reached down to the tip of her shoes, and she was entirely covered now except for her head, with the shiny black gloves over her hands. She was ready.

Kyria walked to the door, took a deep breath, and then pushed it open. Down the stairs, through the hall, and then she was there. She entered the crowded room fearlessly.

She was small for an elf. Petite, with small hands and feet, very thin and not very tall. The wine and cream robe completely enveloped her small body, and long, shining golden hair spilled freely down her back. Her nose turned up at the end, and she had small, round, flat black eyes that rolled and turned as she scanned the room.

There was a tall woman standing behind the bar, speaking to a group of hobbit girls. Kyria approached the woman. "Excuse me, m'am," she said softly. "You must be Aman. My name is Kyria of Dell. The meat smells delicious. May I have some?" she asked, placing a coin on the bar with a tiny, black-gloved hand.