Elves don't care about years, but wish to provide their people that come after them of things that have some significance to the way things are.
Although they are artistic, maybe in some way, their own story telling was a form of telling of their history only...Maybe they had a thing for beautiful architecture and other crafts, but when it came to words, they couldn't really imagine themselves in any other situation than what they were already in. Or, possibly it sort of shows that they are perfectly happy with their lives. Do we not pick up a book in order to escape the one we live in? Or create our own stories to escape grim reality?
Sincerely,
Daegwenn
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"And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—Riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair"
Highwayman
Alfred Noyes
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