The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Huan · 03-08-2005, 04:20 PM

A sketch of Annalaliath . . .

Anyopâ noted the Elf as she came through the door. Despite her wet and much travel stained clothing, still she held that certain air of grace the common to the First Born. She did not seem shy in her manner and he wondered why she had chosen a table tucked away in the corner.

He watched longer as she made herself comfortable in her seat; then, he smiled, nodding knowingly as she pulled a battered journal from her pack. He noted how her steely eyes paid great attention to all that was happening in the room. Another ‘watcher’, he thought to himself.

Pulling out his own chapbook, he opened it to a fresh page. His quill scratched over the page, setting the Elf’s fine features on the paper. The image he drew had a look of studied intensity as her features unfolded beneath his hand. One strand of lank, damp hair trailed across the inked Elf’s cheek. And poised lightly on her lower lip, as she considered what she had sketched, was the much nibbled tip of her own quill’s handle.

03-08-2005, 04:20 PM	#11
Huan Haunting Spirit Join Date: Feb 2005 Location: Halls of Oromë Posts: 54	A sketch of Annalaliath . . . Anyopâ noted the Elf as she came through the door. Despite her wet and much travel stained clothing, still she held that certain air of grace the common to the First Born. She did not seem shy in her manner and he wondered why she had chosen a table tucked away in the corner. He watched longer as she made herself comfortable in her seat; then, he smiled, nodding knowingly as she pulled a battered journal from her pack. He noted how her steely eyes paid great attention to all that was happening in the room. Another ‘watcher’, he thought to himself. Pulling out his own chapbook, he opened it to a fresh page. His quill scratched over the page, setting the Elf’s fine features on the paper. The image he drew had a look of studied intensity as her features unfolded beneath his hand. One strand of lank, damp hair trailed across the inked Elf’s cheek. And poised lightly on her lower lip, as she considered what she had sketched, was the much nibbled tip of her own quill’s handle. __________________ But Huan the hound was true of heart, and the love of Lúthien had fallen upon him in the first hour of their meeting; and he grieved at her captivity . . .