On Every Hillside (December 3010) [Open]
Dec 1, 2018 13:41:27 GMT -5
Post by Fenion on Dec 1, 2018 13:41:27 GMT -5
“Lothlorien, it has been far too long,” the dark haired elf mumbled to the earth. He smiled, finding himself to kneel upon the ground. No matter the season, Fenion found it to always feel something of Springtime in the woods of Lothlorien; though breaths of crisp air could be felt if one were lofted in the branches of the malorn, it was no. It was as if a magic enchanted the realm. It was a strong magic, and lingered steadily. He wondered if it felt the same as that which had enchanted the great elven-realms of Menegroth so long ago.
“It seems a pity to pluck you, yet I cannot resist,” he mused happily, fingering the silver blades of grass. However, it seemed that to kneel upon the ground here was not enough. He truly wished to investigate the shape, and the growth pattern of this very plant. The way it moved against the breeze seemed ethereal, and to look at it from the stairways and trees above, it seemed as if an artist had placed it just so. Fenion had taken to drawing such plant matter in a book he carried; inspired by the Smith of the North who would draw most often architecture and ideas for the craft, Fenion had taken to more natural elements of artistry. The flowers and plants, and of course the trees, but it had drawn and interest to him; the silence of the forest, for at times his ears did tarry from listening to the gossip of elves and men.
With that thought, Fenion moved to leisurely lie upon his stomach on the grass, taking a closer look at the blades. They were a green as the other flora of the forest, yet the edges seemed so silver in the daylight sun, and at night, as he had noticed the night previous, the plant seemed to glow completely silver in the moonlight. Aradeth had commented upon it to him, and they had explored the hillsides in the moonlight.
Of course, the elf did not expect to find new healing remedy or anything else in a plant that had been seen and used for thousands of years, but it had taken his interest on this one visit, and he thought to inquire of the master healers and scribes as to its properties. Indeed! How had he spent so much time in these forests before, without notice to it! Here and there had the bard traveled back and forth to this realm with his kin. His own wife felt at peace here, but so often were his eyes and ears listening for word of people he had gone on to ignore the flora.
But nay, now he was an artist... an aspiring one, at least. Not fine enough yet to draw his Aradeth, but the blooming flowers he could, and the forests had begun to speak to him more often, in a different way.
“And I hear that a silver ink you make just fine, that the invitations that Lady Galadriel writes herself for her feasts are wrought in your own stain. Hm… I am certain you must grow upon every hillside in this land.” The elf rested his head upon his arm, as he lay upon the ground, staring quite intently at the blades of grass, and losing himself in his imagination.
“It seems a pity to pluck you, yet I cannot resist,” he mused happily, fingering the silver blades of grass. However, it seemed that to kneel upon the ground here was not enough. He truly wished to investigate the shape, and the growth pattern of this very plant. The way it moved against the breeze seemed ethereal, and to look at it from the stairways and trees above, it seemed as if an artist had placed it just so. Fenion had taken to drawing such plant matter in a book he carried; inspired by the Smith of the North who would draw most often architecture and ideas for the craft, Fenion had taken to more natural elements of artistry. The flowers and plants, and of course the trees, but it had drawn and interest to him; the silence of the forest, for at times his ears did tarry from listening to the gossip of elves and men.
With that thought, Fenion moved to leisurely lie upon his stomach on the grass, taking a closer look at the blades. They were a green as the other flora of the forest, yet the edges seemed so silver in the daylight sun, and at night, as he had noticed the night previous, the plant seemed to glow completely silver in the moonlight. Aradeth had commented upon it to him, and they had explored the hillsides in the moonlight.
Of course, the elf did not expect to find new healing remedy or anything else in a plant that had been seen and used for thousands of years, but it had taken his interest on this one visit, and he thought to inquire of the master healers and scribes as to its properties. Indeed! How had he spent so much time in these forests before, without notice to it! Here and there had the bard traveled back and forth to this realm with his kin. His own wife felt at peace here, but so often were his eyes and ears listening for word of people he had gone on to ignore the flora.
But nay, now he was an artist... an aspiring one, at least. Not fine enough yet to draw his Aradeth, but the blooming flowers he could, and the forests had begun to speak to him more often, in a different way.
“And I hear that a silver ink you make just fine, that the invitations that Lady Galadriel writes herself for her feasts are wrought in your own stain. Hm… I am certain you must grow upon every hillside in this land.” The elf rested his head upon his arm, as he lay upon the ground, staring quite intently at the blades of grass, and losing himself in his imagination.