Post by Tallaith on Jan 12, 2010 12:34:29 GMT -5
Leasung paused just outside the enormous doors of the great hall. She almost turned away and went straight back up the path that wound up the hill to his house; but she knew Ceallian had enough worries already without wondering where her odd cousin had wandered off to. The girl knotted her hands beneath her cloak in frustration. Damn… If she didn’t truly feel something for this Man, it would be a simple matter to just not return to his house.
Indecision cramped her belly. Her mind was so clouded that she thought she was going mad; should she do what was safest, and just stop speaking to him, or should she dare to take the blind step off the ledge and keep him company? She thudded her forehead gently against the door, growling in frustration. It didn’t help, but the slight throb just above her eyebrows seemed to clear her thoughts just a little. She thumped her head on the cold, gilded wood again. If only there were some sort of sign!
Of course, at the forks in the path of life, there are rarely well-made signs to point to the right direction. These paths are so often walked quickly, without conscious decision, and the signs are old, tumbling down to the mossy grass, and faded. They are easily missed. But guides, however, are a happy circumstance when the markers of the way may fail.
The door slipped open just a few inches and Leasung stepped back in surprise. She perked a brow; had her forehead actually opened the door? Because there was no one readily visible in the dim entry hall.
“What the hell’re ya doin’? Bloody near ta midnight, an’ ya coulda jus’ walked right in. No point in knockin’, ya should know is never locked.”
Leasung smirked, looking down to the tiny lass who stood at eye-level with her navel. Leasung was a petite girl herself, and this mean little creature barely stood at the full height of a ‘tween of her kind, even grown as tall as she ever would. “Did I wake you? I was not knocking… Just… testing the door. I thought I saw a dent in the paint.”
“Git in here if yer gonna.” Coltsfoot yawned. “I ain’t sleepin’ yet, but almost was. Readin’ a lil. Do somethin’ fer me? Next time ya see yer sweetheart, bring him a book I… ‘borrowed.’ I been inta enough o’ late wit’out pissin’ him off. I took it wit’out askin’ him. If ya bring it back, an’ say ya borrowed it yerself, mayhap…” She stepped back and dragged the door open with her in an unusual gesture of hospitality.
Leasung grinned. The Hobbit rarely did anything that wasn’t outright unpleasant unless she wanted something. Then she blinked. “My sweetheart?” She stepped inside and began stripping off her cloak and gloves, hanging them on the hooks near the great doors.
“Aye. That Filcher. Aintcha keepin’ his sheets warm at night?” Coltsfoot smirked and folded her tiny arms over the threadbare cotton tunic she wore.
Leasung eyed the Hobbit critically before she said a single word. What was different about her? Aside from her use of a new name, which Leasung had heard about in rumor. The tale was that “Coltsfoot” was the name the Wings had given her when they took her in for fosterage; when Ceallian adopted her birth name, her young sister followed suit. Why the change now, and what was this strange and almost invisible difference in the lass? Coltsfoot was always grubby, that was true enough, but she was always outfitted in the best leather plate to be found in her diminutive size. Tonight she wore a knee-length scrap of a tunic, obviously hacked off so it wouldn’t drag the floor, some coarse suede trousers, and a pair of thick wooly socks that could definitely use a good wash. Perhaps this was what the feral little thing wore to bed? Leasung brushed this aside for now. She didn’t trust herself to make any fair or sharp appraisals in this state, her mind foggy with confusion, sleepiness, and something else… entirely pleasant.
Realizing she’d been quiet for a length of time, and that Coltsfoot was eyeing her in return as well with a half-smirk, half-scowl, she shook her head swiftly. “Forgive me. I am tired. No, Brendur and I do not… feel that way about one another. But I will return the book, if you like.”
Coltsfoot nodded and jerked her head to the common room. “Is in here. An’ I got hot cider.”
They moved into the great hall and after helping themselves to mugs of warm cider from a kettle on the hearth, settled down on the bearskin before the fire. Coltsfoot produced a slender blue book and Leasung tucked it into her pocket with a promise to return it to Brendur when she saw him next.
“Where is my cousin? I came to speak to her.” She tasted her cider with a soft sigh of contentment.
Coltsfoot seemed to enjoy holding her drink more than consuming it, toasting her tiny hands around the warm mug. “She left jus’ after lunchtime wit’ tha baby. Wanted ta get back ta tha Shire before dark. I had ta talk ta her too.” She made sure to keep her face turned just so, hiding the almost-faded blackened eye from Leasung.
The lass wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Her thoughts were away, up the hill in a pretty little house. “Can you give her a message? That I will be staying with one of her friends for now? He has been very kind to me, and a perfect gentleman. I am sure Ceallian would not be sorry to lose me as one of her worries, regardless.”
Coltsfoot snickered. “So it’s a lad gotcha so… dreamy? Yer a daft one, thass fer sure. I don’ care what everyone says ‘bout what a clever liar ya be. Anybody gone so idiotic over some feller is half-stoopid, ya ask me.” She stopped herself, her expression changing very subtly to something slightly less scornful. “Thass yer business, though. Who is he, so she’ll know where ta find ya?”
Leasung had opened her mouth to sharply cut off Coltsfoot, but snapped her jaw shut. She took a deep drink of the cider and spent a moment collecting herself. “Shiromir. He lives just at the top of the hill here, actually. She knows him well enough to trust him. And do not waste your breath spreading rumors about what we may or may not be doing. We are only friends, mind you. He is offering me a room out of kindness.”
Coltsfoot shrugged. “I don’ care whatcher doin’ cos I got more important thin’s on my mind. I’ll be seein’ Cay tomorrow, so I’ll pass along tha word.” She set down her own cup near the embers of the fire to reheat it.
Leasung laid down her mug as well, taking this as the sign this conversation was ended. “Get some rest. You look like you need it. And check those trunks upstairs for some… decent clothes. Do you have any money?” What a bizarre, pitiful little figure she made, huddled in front of the fire, no bigger than a Human child.
“I got enough money fer my needs, aye.” She glanced sideways at Leasung. “An’ what I wear is no concern o’ yers. If it keeps tha rain an’ tha worst o’ tha dirt out, I’ll wear it. Now piss off.”
Leasung did as she was so politely asked, curtseying to Coltsfoot before making her way back outside. In the deep black chill of the night, she clasped her cloak around her throat and started out on the path to Shiro’s house.
She smiled, a bit breathless, as she made her way across the modest yard of the house. It was lovely in the fashion of Elvish buildings, like a confection more than a home. She tapped the door with her knuckles quietly.
No answer. Furrowing her brow, she tried the latch and found the door open.
The house was empty. She thought it was rude to go searching the place for signs of where her host may have gone, and wasn’t entirely sure where she was meant to sleep. So after removing her cloak and laying it over the back of the long chair before the fire, she settled herself down on the sofa as well. Her thoughts were heavy, though not dark, as she stared into the embers and eventually fell asleep.
Indecision cramped her belly. Her mind was so clouded that she thought she was going mad; should she do what was safest, and just stop speaking to him, or should she dare to take the blind step off the ledge and keep him company? She thudded her forehead gently against the door, growling in frustration. It didn’t help, but the slight throb just above her eyebrows seemed to clear her thoughts just a little. She thumped her head on the cold, gilded wood again. If only there were some sort of sign!
Of course, at the forks in the path of life, there are rarely well-made signs to point to the right direction. These paths are so often walked quickly, without conscious decision, and the signs are old, tumbling down to the mossy grass, and faded. They are easily missed. But guides, however, are a happy circumstance when the markers of the way may fail.
The door slipped open just a few inches and Leasung stepped back in surprise. She perked a brow; had her forehead actually opened the door? Because there was no one readily visible in the dim entry hall.
“What the hell’re ya doin’? Bloody near ta midnight, an’ ya coulda jus’ walked right in. No point in knockin’, ya should know is never locked.”
Leasung smirked, looking down to the tiny lass who stood at eye-level with her navel. Leasung was a petite girl herself, and this mean little creature barely stood at the full height of a ‘tween of her kind, even grown as tall as she ever would. “Did I wake you? I was not knocking… Just… testing the door. I thought I saw a dent in the paint.”
“Git in here if yer gonna.” Coltsfoot yawned. “I ain’t sleepin’ yet, but almost was. Readin’ a lil. Do somethin’ fer me? Next time ya see yer sweetheart, bring him a book I… ‘borrowed.’ I been inta enough o’ late wit’out pissin’ him off. I took it wit’out askin’ him. If ya bring it back, an’ say ya borrowed it yerself, mayhap…” She stepped back and dragged the door open with her in an unusual gesture of hospitality.
Leasung grinned. The Hobbit rarely did anything that wasn’t outright unpleasant unless she wanted something. Then she blinked. “My sweetheart?” She stepped inside and began stripping off her cloak and gloves, hanging them on the hooks near the great doors.
“Aye. That Filcher. Aintcha keepin’ his sheets warm at night?” Coltsfoot smirked and folded her tiny arms over the threadbare cotton tunic she wore.
Leasung eyed the Hobbit critically before she said a single word. What was different about her? Aside from her use of a new name, which Leasung had heard about in rumor. The tale was that “Coltsfoot” was the name the Wings had given her when they took her in for fosterage; when Ceallian adopted her birth name, her young sister followed suit. Why the change now, and what was this strange and almost invisible difference in the lass? Coltsfoot was always grubby, that was true enough, but she was always outfitted in the best leather plate to be found in her diminutive size. Tonight she wore a knee-length scrap of a tunic, obviously hacked off so it wouldn’t drag the floor, some coarse suede trousers, and a pair of thick wooly socks that could definitely use a good wash. Perhaps this was what the feral little thing wore to bed? Leasung brushed this aside for now. She didn’t trust herself to make any fair or sharp appraisals in this state, her mind foggy with confusion, sleepiness, and something else… entirely pleasant.
Realizing she’d been quiet for a length of time, and that Coltsfoot was eyeing her in return as well with a half-smirk, half-scowl, she shook her head swiftly. “Forgive me. I am tired. No, Brendur and I do not… feel that way about one another. But I will return the book, if you like.”
Coltsfoot nodded and jerked her head to the common room. “Is in here. An’ I got hot cider.”
They moved into the great hall and after helping themselves to mugs of warm cider from a kettle on the hearth, settled down on the bearskin before the fire. Coltsfoot produced a slender blue book and Leasung tucked it into her pocket with a promise to return it to Brendur when she saw him next.
“Where is my cousin? I came to speak to her.” She tasted her cider with a soft sigh of contentment.
Coltsfoot seemed to enjoy holding her drink more than consuming it, toasting her tiny hands around the warm mug. “She left jus’ after lunchtime wit’ tha baby. Wanted ta get back ta tha Shire before dark. I had ta talk ta her too.” She made sure to keep her face turned just so, hiding the almost-faded blackened eye from Leasung.
The lass wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Her thoughts were away, up the hill in a pretty little house. “Can you give her a message? That I will be staying with one of her friends for now? He has been very kind to me, and a perfect gentleman. I am sure Ceallian would not be sorry to lose me as one of her worries, regardless.”
Coltsfoot snickered. “So it’s a lad gotcha so… dreamy? Yer a daft one, thass fer sure. I don’ care what everyone says ‘bout what a clever liar ya be. Anybody gone so idiotic over some feller is half-stoopid, ya ask me.” She stopped herself, her expression changing very subtly to something slightly less scornful. “Thass yer business, though. Who is he, so she’ll know where ta find ya?”
Leasung had opened her mouth to sharply cut off Coltsfoot, but snapped her jaw shut. She took a deep drink of the cider and spent a moment collecting herself. “Shiromir. He lives just at the top of the hill here, actually. She knows him well enough to trust him. And do not waste your breath spreading rumors about what we may or may not be doing. We are only friends, mind you. He is offering me a room out of kindness.”
Coltsfoot shrugged. “I don’ care whatcher doin’ cos I got more important thin’s on my mind. I’ll be seein’ Cay tomorrow, so I’ll pass along tha word.” She set down her own cup near the embers of the fire to reheat it.
Leasung laid down her mug as well, taking this as the sign this conversation was ended. “Get some rest. You look like you need it. And check those trunks upstairs for some… decent clothes. Do you have any money?” What a bizarre, pitiful little figure she made, huddled in front of the fire, no bigger than a Human child.
“I got enough money fer my needs, aye.” She glanced sideways at Leasung. “An’ what I wear is no concern o’ yers. If it keeps tha rain an’ tha worst o’ tha dirt out, I’ll wear it. Now piss off.”
Leasung did as she was so politely asked, curtseying to Coltsfoot before making her way back outside. In the deep black chill of the night, she clasped her cloak around her throat and started out on the path to Shiro’s house.
She smiled, a bit breathless, as she made her way across the modest yard of the house. It was lovely in the fashion of Elvish buildings, like a confection more than a home. She tapped the door with her knuckles quietly.
No answer. Furrowing her brow, she tried the latch and found the door open.
The house was empty. She thought it was rude to go searching the place for signs of where her host may have gone, and wasn’t entirely sure where she was meant to sleep. So after removing her cloak and laying it over the back of the long chair before the fire, she settled herself down on the sofa as well. Her thoughts were heavy, though not dark, as she stared into the embers and eventually fell asleep.