[Nurumaiel]

Here's a little Daisy-lass for you to consider, Arwen! Or would you prefer Fëa?

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? - Yes: The Long Winter, The Hobbit's Gift (owned), Holiday in the Sun (cameo), In the Shadow of the Star, Corsairs and Corsets (co-owned), Breelanders All! (cameo), Hills of Evendim

2.) How many RPG?s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? -- 1

List them, please:

-Friends of Nimrodel

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn? ? Yes

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NAME : Daisy Whitfield

AGE : 8 years

RACE : Man

GENDER : Female

WEAPONS : Daisy carries no weapons, though some people say her eyes might prove dangerous to the hearts of boys someday.

APPEARANCE : Daisy is a graceful little child who tries to behave as she believes her mother would wish; that is as a lady. She is beginning to grow taller already, though some think it strange she should have her growing spurt so early in her years. She is not a particularly beautiful child, though most think that will change in years. She has never especially regretted being one of those girls that will not turn into beauties until they are older. She is not ugly, either, but she is merely not pretty. Her beauty lies mainly in her sweet, sparkling brown eyes. Unconsciously she will charm others with these eyes by looking at one, dropping her eyes in shyness, and then raising them again with a sweet little smile. Like her eyes, her hair is brown and while it is naturally straight it is only ever seen in slight waves for she braids her hair every night.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES : Daisy, as has been mentioned before, tries with all her heart to behave as a lady should, but that doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy unladylike activities. At such a young age she still finds more pleasure in romping about with the boys than sitting at her needlework. She is not a 'tomboy,' however, and would detest to be described as such. She merely enjoys the games that she plays with the boys, though she she also finds pleasure in cooking.

Ah yes, cooking. Daisy may not care much for needlework (though it can be enjoyable at times), but she loves cooking dearly. Perhaps it was because she was encouraged in a charming way at a young age. When she was five she, with the help of her mother, made little cakes for her elder brother and some of his friends, and they showered her with compliments, blissfully eating the cakes and saying every now and then she was the best cook in the world. Fond memories of this inspire her to please more through her cooking talents.

For Daisy loves most to please people. Her little heart is only happy when she sees others happy, and she weeps when others weep. She has also been described as 'very motherly.' She enjoys caring for others and watching out for them, and feels an urge to protect them from danger if they cannot protect themselves.

Daisy is a very imaginitive little thing, which often causes her to fall into trouble with her parents. At times she will not hear her mother calling for she is out somewhere gazing at the sky and imagining she lives in the clouds, or perhaps she will forget an errand in her bliss over a glorious sunrise. She talks entirely too much, some people say, but others enjoy her prattling way. When she does talk she says interesting, imaginitive things and so most don't mind. Another thing that must be confessed is that she will cry very easily. Disappointments, injuries, scoldings, fear -especially if any of these things happen to someone else- and many other things reduce her to tears in a moment. She battles bravely against her tears, but at times cannot surpress them. Beauty, too, will make her eyes fill.

HISTORY : Daisy Whitfield was born to _______ and _______ Whitfield, the second in a family of two. Her little life has in fact been occupied with nothing exciting, but if she were tell someone what she imagined about her life there would be no end to the grand and glorious adventures she has had. However as she is convinced to stick to bare facts, she was born in Dale and has spent her eight years there, helping her mother about the house, and playing and dreaming (and cooking!) in her spare time.

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Nurumaiel's post

The little brown-haired girl sat under the shade of a tree, finding comfort in the fact that there was at last a shady spot to keep her protected from the sun. After a glance to make sure no one was about, she turned her eyes to the tree and placed a tender kiss on its rough bark, murmuring her thanks to it for its gallantry in defending her from the sun. She smiled regretfully up at the sun, spreading her arms as if she were questioning what else she could do, and then fixed her eyes on some little clouds flitting across the sky and dancing together. A rapturous little sigh burst from her and she clasped her two small hands together, her brown eyes shining. If a passerby had looked into those eyes, he would have seen at once that her heart was not in Dale any longer but flying about to dance with those clouds.

Daisy Whitfield had always been a dreamer, and folk had resigned themselves to the fact that she always would be. They had nothing against dreamers, or so they said, but there was something queer about the way her being fled her body to travel in some other realm, and only a sharp word spoken would bring her back to the solid ground again. She was a sensible child and a great help to her mother about the house, but folk felt that the term 'down-to-earth' would not be appropriate for her.

Daisy Whitfield danced with the clouds before pulling herself away to rise to her feet and climb the tree and perch in reality amid its green branches. There, now she felt closer to the sky and more akin to it. She let her brown head rest against the trunk of the tree and once again set about to dancing with the clouds. A soft wind rustled the leaves of the tree and made her long skirt billow out; so absorbed was she in her dreamings that she did not notice her skirt and been blown above her knees and could not pull it down again with maidenly blushes.

Caught up still in her dreamings, she wondered what it would be like to really dance with the clouds, like that large bird with scales was doing now. It had seemed to come from nowhere, but it made the dancing clouds seem more alluring. It was a beautiful thing, she reflected, and it would be interesting to ride on its back. Perhaps she would imagine she was riding on its back. She had never seen a bird so big... nor had she ever seen a bird with scales.

Her face paled, her lips opened in a soundless scream, and her little heart seemed to stop a moment before it resumed to beat: a loud, pounding beat that made her short of breath. She stared in wordless terror at the scaled bird and then a little scream did burst from her. Closing her eyes tightly, she buried her face against the trunk and tried to imagine the creature away. Opening her eyes again, she saw it was still there, and terror possessed her. But her limbs did not go numb, as they did so often in her nightmares. Instead speed was lent to her, and she slid from the tree with remarkable agility. Her eyes widened as she stared at the creature, and she realized again what it was.

The creature was a distance away, but it was growing steadily closer and Daisy could see the gleam of gold that dazzled from its scales when the sun fell upon it. Yet she was not enraptured by this sight. Beautiful, yes, but its beauty was lost to her and she saw it as only terrible. She pulled her skirts up to give her legs more freedom and ran, the tears of terror beginning to flow from her eyes. She had wandered far from home and she was frightened she would not reach the safety of her mother in time. She ran with all her strength, trying to imagine that the creature wasn't winging behind her.

But it was.

Her feet began to drag and her side burned like fire. But she ran still, until she saw her own house up ahead. A painful, breathless sob of relief burst from her and she began to slow a little. And then her feet stopped. She had run nearly a mile without a pause and her trembling little legs collapsed underneath her. Pitifully she crawled to the side of the road and buried herself against the side of the house in the shade of the tree. But it brought her no comfort. A tree could protect her from the sun; it could not protect her against the monster. She buried her face in her little hands and wept in despair.


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