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#11 |
Stormdancer of Doom
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Dec 16: The Flet
Ædegard studied Wild Mellon with a look of surprise.
"He's so calm. And what did you call him, sir?" "Nethwador. It means Young Brother." "Better than Pig," nodded Ædegard. "And less confusing than Mellon. Nethador it is." Erebemlin sang one verse over the food, and Liornung held his breath wishing he would sing more. He hoped there would be time for song. Many songs. They ate; Liornung and Ædegard both remarked how calm Nethwador had become. "I am not certain it will last beyond the borders of the forest. I believe lord Amroth assured him he was safe here in Lorien," said Erebemlin. Ædegard handed Nethwador a peice of fruit. "Nethador, here, take this." It was received calmly, and devoured quickly. Ædegard shook his head. "It's as if you cast a spell on him." |
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