Banks of Stone - (March 3010) - [Open]
Apr 18, 2018 9:17:12 GMT -5
Post by Farin on Apr 18, 2018 9:17:12 GMT -5
"Perhaps. I don't blame the common people for seeking safety elsewhere. I'd probably do the same too if I were a farmer with a family."
Farin listened a moment, catching the bold, daring tone the young, fresh-faced man used. Common people. She mulled it over a moment, the recesses of her mind considering such a statement. It perhaps could be seen as foolish, to think of the folk of Gondor were entirely hapless. And yet, there was something about the young man’s eye that seemed to imply he had meant no grave and grating insult.
For a moment, she laughed, the sound short and eyes twinkling like mithril. “Not of the common folk, lad?” She asked. “Elves are getting into that head of yours.”
She turned once more to eye the river, quietly tumbling and laughing its way along the brook. “But we aren’t like most of the world, are we?” Her remark was thoughtful, perhaps truer to her than Galadion would realize. A dwarf woman was not meant to go beyond the mountain, for inside the mountain she was safe, a prize to her people who struggled bearing women. She was supposed to be married by now, probably a mother. A shudder rolled through her arms at the thought.
No, they were not like most.
"But there are those who still fight, even when all seems lost. Estranged family of mine, even. It's a goal of mine to find those that still fight; the Rangers that still fight Sauron's forces. Getting to hunt down Orcs along the way? Now that's just a bonus."
“Your fire is young,” Farin remarked in amusement. It was perhaps almost endearing; the young often thirsted for the adventures their elders could, but often would not, boast. Farin had been no different. It was why she was out now travelling, exploring on her own. Her spirit was as hardy as the rock that she had been crafted from, and she had endured much in her time already.
Yet, as the years wore on, things changed. She was not so eager for danger as she might once have been considered. No doubt her penchant for finding trouble was ever the same, though her feelings about it had begun to change. “When you’ve—” She paused, looking around with a quick cast of her bright green eye, and reached for the two swords at her hip to draw them into hand. “Do you hear that, lad? Wolves.”
As if her speaking their title gave them life and being, they leapt, maws cracking, from the shadows.
Farin listened a moment, catching the bold, daring tone the young, fresh-faced man used. Common people. She mulled it over a moment, the recesses of her mind considering such a statement. It perhaps could be seen as foolish, to think of the folk of Gondor were entirely hapless. And yet, there was something about the young man’s eye that seemed to imply he had meant no grave and grating insult.
For a moment, she laughed, the sound short and eyes twinkling like mithril. “Not of the common folk, lad?” She asked. “Elves are getting into that head of yours.”
She turned once more to eye the river, quietly tumbling and laughing its way along the brook. “But we aren’t like most of the world, are we?” Her remark was thoughtful, perhaps truer to her than Galadion would realize. A dwarf woman was not meant to go beyond the mountain, for inside the mountain she was safe, a prize to her people who struggled bearing women. She was supposed to be married by now, probably a mother. A shudder rolled through her arms at the thought.
No, they were not like most.
"But there are those who still fight, even when all seems lost. Estranged family of mine, even. It's a goal of mine to find those that still fight; the Rangers that still fight Sauron's forces. Getting to hunt down Orcs along the way? Now that's just a bonus."
“Your fire is young,” Farin remarked in amusement. It was perhaps almost endearing; the young often thirsted for the adventures their elders could, but often would not, boast. Farin had been no different. It was why she was out now travelling, exploring on her own. Her spirit was as hardy as the rock that she had been crafted from, and she had endured much in her time already.
Yet, as the years wore on, things changed. She was not so eager for danger as she might once have been considered. No doubt her penchant for finding trouble was ever the same, though her feelings about it had begun to change. “When you’ve—” She paused, looking around with a quick cast of her bright green eye, and reached for the two swords at her hip to draw them into hand. “Do you hear that, lad? Wolves.”
As if her speaking their title gave them life and being, they leapt, maws cracking, from the shadows.
