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From her vantage point, Fairleaf watched the tableaux of the Uien and the fair haired man who rested against her. The man seemed to be sleeping. His face was peaceful, a smile gracing it for one brief moment as the Elf bent to kiss his brow. The Elf, however, did not sleep. Her eyes were open in the starlight and memories, the Ent-maid supposed, ran deep beneath them.
In the distance, she saw the scarred Elf knock on the Inn’s back door, then slide into the shadows to wait for an answer. It was some time before the rectangle of bright light that shown from the kitchen flooded out onto the little porch and the sturdy figure of the cook stepped into it.
Good, good! She is taking him in. thought Fairleaf. Root and Stem! He needs a little nourishment for both. If only he’ll take what’s offered.’
Fairleaf stirred her leaves, catching the scents on the night breezes. She inched her roots deeper. Elves can revel in their waking dreams for a long time she recalled. She would have to be patient and wait for them to leave.
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When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown/When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town/When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West/I'll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best!
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