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‘What about you?’ Hithadan asked. ‘What business brings you here?’ The man looked at him expectantly.
‘Shhhh!’ Tavaro put his finger to his lips and raised and eyebrow at his friend. ‘She has a lovely voice, don’t you think so?’ He steepled his fingers and rested his chin lightly on them. ‘It is an altogether different sort of sadness that the Secondborn bear, or so I think,’ he murmured, listening to melody as it underwove the singer’s words. ‘We Firstborn cannot know it, long as we might for the World as it once was.’ He gave his companion the briefest of half smiles. ‘There is no taste of death for us. We do not pass away from this world. The world passes away from us; fades . . .’
His gaze slid from the woman to the small boy. ‘Elven songs are lovely, I’ll give you that. But those of Men are bittersweet. And of late I find them much to my liking.’
Tavaro nodded to the woman and man as they finished their song. ‘I hope they will sing another. Do you think they might?’
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