A crisp breeze wafted up to the higher branches of the tree where Luthelian sat with her legs bent and a leather-bound notebook on her lap. This particular notebook looked as common as any other – no fancy linings or gilt edges – but the owner had taken the liberty to sketch upon its leather surface, all sorts of unrelated images and elvish in all possible directions, that it was quite impossible to guess which cover was the front and in which direction the notebook should be held. The feathers of the partnering quill looked especially ruffled that day, as it had been abused and run repeatedly along the edge of the owner’s notebook while she pondered in thought. With her caramel brown hair and nature-toned clothes, she was invisible to all except her twin sister who sat at her workshop bench down below, industriously polishing the angles of a quartz gem.
Occasionally, Luthelian would pause from her writing and take a peek at her sister. Such was the case at this present moment, as she took a precautionary glance at Lothelian below when she dipped her quill in her ink well. Certainly, now, it was set securely in a cavernous knot of the branch she sat upon. However, there had been a time when the ink well had slipped onto its side and ink flowed through the rivulets in the bark and dripped down, down, down into her twin’s hair. Oh, how she had been scolded when Lothelian chanced upon the coal black blotches in her beautiful locks. Reassured, at this time, that her sister’s hair was the color it should be, and her inkwell in place, Luthelian reset her quill to her notebook.
How furious Naneth was when I came home after the ball still wearing my dancing slippers. She bade me to “wash off the stink of wine and think of my irresponsible actions!” Hah!
Luthelian frowned, feeling indignant in the afterglow of her mother’s wrath. Nevermind that she had in fact stumbled into the kitchen just after dawn, sending some poor two teacups shattering across the floor and scaring her mother out of sleep and out of bed. And, that as her mother stood in the doorway with her mouth agape, Luthelian was obliviously still swaying and humming the tune of the last bawdy song from the after party.
My dearest journal, you should have seen the two matching bards of Vanimar. Here, I shall immortalize them through the words of my journal, if they should somehow come to an ill fate in the end.
The Two Bards of Vanimar
With lute and flute in hand,
These two tall bards did stand,
With flowery circlets on their heads,
They kept guests out of their beds.
With the colors of a rose in the night,
And a clashing turquoise so bright,
Luthelian tilted her head back and began to laugh uproariously. From far below, her sister quipped without looking up from her work, “If you are lucky, the birds on the other side of the valley might have heard you.”
Perhaps, journal, I shall leave the writing and rhyming to the talented bards.Oh, but such songs they sang…Of sleeping and drunken Noldo…and blue ribbons…
Luthelian blushed hotly and laughed again.
And that, journal, is all you shall know!
