“Ready?” Duirronith laid a hand on Barangolf’s shoulder. Before them a raft bumped gently against the riverbank, already burdened with the wines and apples they intended to trade in far Celondim.
Barangolf turned one last time toward the village behind them. There was no sign of Thalathand; he and his wife had already said their goodbyes and she had returned to her own obligations.
Beside him Daelinn hefted her pack and grinned. “I can hardly wait. What’s it like in Celondim?”
“You’ll have to ask Pelimeril that,” Barangolf laughed and gestured to the fourth member of their company. He had only been to Celondim once before, when his daughter had removed herself from Mirkwood to reside beside the sea.
Pelimeril hopped lightly onto the raft, then held a hand out for the youngest member of the company. “Celondim is a truly lovely place. Slim, delicate spires that soar into the sky, wisteria climbing up the sides of gleaming white buildings. Absolutely breathtaking.”
Daelinn accepted the hand and leapt onto the raft beside the other woman. “Oh,” She sighed wistfully, “It sounds like a song.”
Barangolf and Duirronith clambered onto the raft after them, then together the four raft-elves pushed their little raft away from the bank. Down, down the river they rode, skillfully navigating the rocks and roots that obstructed their way towards Thranduil’s Halls, and the rest of the party that was to leave with them.
Daelinn took out her flute and began to play a tune and soon enough the other three were singing along to the cheerful, familiar song.
Friends and song, and soon more friends to join them on their journey out of their forest home. And then to return home again, laden with wine from Limael’s Vineyard, bringing back tales of those they had encountered on the road.
Tales of more friends, and perhaps some new songs as well.
What more could any Elf wish for?
