[maikafanawen]

Ihwesta avoided the rest as they sat around the fire that night, taking time to recover from the unexpected attack by creatures they hadn’t even believed to exist. She had reluctantly let Taurëwen tend to the welt on the left side of her face that was healing visibly. Only Arië knew the cause of the welt. None other had asked, probably assuming it had come from a spider’s leg in the beast’s rough defense.

Ihwesta looked around for the other tracker and was surprised to see her sitting beside her, watching earnestly.

“Are you going to be alright Ihwesta?” she asked sincerely. Ihwesta tried to offer a comforting smile but succeeded only in making her welt sear with pain. Arië didn’t try to help. Ihwesta’s strong nature wouldn’t allow it so she didn’t have a go. Instead she shifted her gaze into the fire as it cracked its last log, the embers glowing against the charred wood.

“How about you?”

“I’m alright. Airelómë didn’t slap me—” she began grimly but Ihwesta laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I hate to wonder what made him,” she stammered “crazy, but I can only think... Should we—”

“No!” Arië half-shouted turning the heads of the nearest elves. “No,” she repeated quietly. “Not yet. Don’t even breathe a word to anyone else. I think it is best for Airelómë’s spirit it’s kept between the two of us.” Ihwesta consented and leaned back against the spruce she rested besides willing her mind to go blank and relax. It was then she felt a tap on her shoulder. Opening her eyes she turned her head enough to see whom it was: Reynion.

“Hello,” he said timidly. Ihwesta smiled inwardly, determined to keep her wound still. She sat back against the tree again, closed her eyes and didn’t speak. “Look here, I didn’t want our harsh words back there to be the last between us. It would appear as though this journey is taking some unpleasant and unexpected turns.” Ihwesta agreed privately as he continued. “Well, this might help to calm your nerves from the welt.” Her eyes opened completely and looked insensitively at the herb in his outstretched hand.

“What would I do with—” she stopped as his other hand produced a small pipe. She grabbed both and held them in her fists that she covered with the flap of her bag so that the others might not see. “Where did you get that!” she whispered excitedly speaking of the pipe.

It was common knowledge that reputable elves didn’t smoke the pipes of men. Reynion didn’t tell her how he came into possession of such an object but leased them to her as long as she promised to return them without the others knowing of them.

"Um, just one more little thing, Ihwesta," Reynion added. "I don't want to be enemies with anyone in our group and, well, I know that you said that you'd teach Gilbereth, but I want to try to make it up to him for talking down to him. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to offer to teach him and give him the chance to refuse before you try." Ihwesta looked up at the elf and gave a half-smile so that her face wouldn’t hurt too bad; it still stung a little.

“You have a good heart Reynion. Let’s hope you have good luck too!” Now in better spirits, Ihwesta moved into the shadows where the firelight didn’t reach and sat with her pipe, letting the essence of the herb sedate her cluttered mind. Thankfully, the herb gave off no detectable smell so she would be able to sit unnoticed for a while in peace.

When it was finished, she emerged from her seat and joined the rest of the elves who had gathered closely together and were engaged in light conversation: something that proved they were becoming close.

“Where were you Ihwesta?” asked Arië harmlessly.

“Just off,” she replied. The matter was not pursued. Then Ceros’ eyes brightened and he looked towards his friend’s younger sister.

“Dance for us,” he said softly. The tracker started to protest but then decided she was in a good enough mood. Ihwesta removed her boots so that she was bare foot and over her tight forest-pants, she donned the only skirt she had brought. Finally she let her hair down and looked the part of any elven dancer. The only difference was the calm expression upon her face where as the common dancers would be categorically sultry and beautiful. Ihwesta was exceptionally attractive but it was not her renowned quality.

The reason the noble elves of the palace had chosen her entertainment over that of the more stunning maidens was because her movements were reputable and her ballads were edifying. The parties where she was employed were always attended by the elves of highest stature. She did her father much credit as she was often told. No one would guess her alter ego was a tenacious tracker who had just indulged in the tranquilizing pleasures of their opposite race.

From within her pack she withdrew a diminutive harp of elegant make. Along the sides were emblazoned designs that could not be found in any book or tapestry but designs that described the magic of music that would come forth from the strings whence plucked by the daintiest of fingers.

As the dance began so did the music.

The swirl of her skirt revealed the golden threads embedded in the folds of her uniform. Shadows that one would have guessed would darken her dance helped to uncover the mysterious elements that gave the performer’s silhouette a glowing condition. The music seemed to manipulate the sounds of the night and even the strengthening wind added to the song…

There was once a time for laughing
When the clouds came down to play
And at night the comets stopped awhile
Now they just zoom on their way

Where ponies grazed in fields of green
And silver fish would swim upstream
Oh yes the painted creatures of the earth
Entered that circle on their day of birth
Without a warning promise
They are all around us!

And the dance is danced
While the song is sung
Do you even remember
When it was begun

As the skirt of flora swirls
And the harp of fauna plays
Sit back awhile to think upon
The merriest of days...

I see the memories of Time
As it filters through my fingers
I wish it’d stop and talk awhile
In my parlor would it linger

The nests of the birds reside
In the tallest trees outside
While the homes of mice and mole
Are in an underground hole

Nothing’s changing yet
Don’t you dare forget

And the dance is danced
While the song is sung
Do you even remember
When it was begun

As the skirt of flora swirls
And the harp of fauna plays
Sit back awhile to think upon
The merriest of days...

“And as the last notes of the last chord is strummed,” whispered Ihwesta, dancing fluidly, releasing the power her music seemed to have over the earth. “The breeze settles back into its nook and the forest creatures nestled back into their crannies, ready for night’s diamond studded velvet blanket to tuck them in now that its lullaby was through.”

When the dance had ended at last, Ihwesta’s eyes had been looking towards the ground. Now as she lifted her chin so that the dying embers of the fire shone upon her tranquil face, those who would have been looking for them would see the tear paths from the corners of her eyes down her cheek. The tears were not mournful but relaxing. Would it were that the elf would be given shelter in her own home tonight, one would see her sitting upon the sill of her classic arched window, playing the song again upon her harp as if the stars themselves had asked to hear it one last time.

[ July 26, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]