Falowik
The Elf with the mottled features took his leave in a courteous enough manner, though the scorn with which his tone was laced was not lost on Falowik. It brought back memories he tried to keep buried, from Bree. The same scorn had condemned him a half-orc due to his lack of any lineage, his mother having died giving him life, his father unknown. Thinking on it raised the bile in his throat. He was glad Uien thought better of him than that, though he deserved it not.
Uien
Uien allowed the sun to soak into her gown, her long blonde hair her only shade. Little by little the carving was beginning to take shape. Three figures, two taller, one half height and between the tall ones, stood on grass. She imagined that she knew who these figures were, or at least who they represented.
She was distracted by movement, and saw from where she sat, a figure move behind the stable and settle not far from her by a tree. He did not seem to notice her, and she did not call attention to herself. But there was something about him that was strange; she did not know what it was, and looked carefully with her Elven eyes. He had already fallen asleep. But his face was mottled and scarred. What from? She could not hold her thought back, her curiosity was so roused, and she probed the edges of his thought; he was an Elf! So dark! Hot lancing pain. Cruel, dark laughter. Uien shivered, reminded of her captivity in the mountain of Caradhras. She shivered again and pulled her thought away, looking back at her carving.
Her knife had not ceased its cutting while her mind wandered, and she was horrified at what lay in her hand: an woman of the Eldar and a man of the Eldar, and between them a child of the Eldar, who held them each by the hand. Is this what I want?
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