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12-20-2015, 10:21 AM
Moss has a queer way of pacifying the clatter of hooves, causing the svelte maiden to remain oblivious to the foreign presence. Lothíriel starts a little when he utters obligatory niceties; she meets his emerald eyes with a narrowed lilac gaze, the faces of her dark ears turned back in a show of mild annoyance. Strands of moss and grass fall from the corners of her velvet lips, scattering over the luminescent flowers below. From beneath thick white eyelashes she scrutinizes him, a little indignant that he deigned to interrupt the quietude of her thoughts. The stranger is well-built, standing the same height as herself, but appearing larger because of his masculine bulk; he is endowed with a handsome rack, a strange lantern resting among a nest of vines on the tines of his antlers. It illuminates the facets of his face, as well as lending light to the already radiant garden of flowers and nightcaps beneath their hooves. He does not seem to harbor malicious intent, nor does he seem to be a particularly interesting sort, apart from the beacon on his horns. The queen of flowers hopes he will do something to refute this impression.
"Not many choose to wander in these parts," the slender girl mentions, dismissing polite introductions with a flick of her leonine tail. She remains unsmiling, but the dim glitter of her eyes imparts a certain playfulness to her countenance. "I wonder what brings you here," she says casually—perhaps almost dismissively—finally choosing to look at something other than the comely intruder. Thingol the pale raven lands on the flower maiden's withers, offering the chestnut a throaty croak. & when she walks, her footsteps sing a reckless serenade. |
@Tilney
