Bold-One was watching the wood mouse intently, eyes on target, when the call came. “Huh-hooo!” It took her a moment to turn her attention toward the caller. “Huh-hooo!”
“Kewick!” the owl replied, twitching an ear tuft with amusement. She-Who-Wanders always breathed the call a smidge too loud and a moment too long, but Bold-One didn’t mind. Perhaps, in time, the elf would learn to call better; but for now, the charming error served well as identification.
In a season long past, the owl had learned by harsh error that the Wanderer’s hide could not withstand her talons’ bite, so she gave time for the elf to cover her limb with second-skin before leaning forward into the sky. When she landed on her friend’s outstretched limb, she repeated her greeting. “Kewick!”
“Súldil,” She-Who-Wanders spoke the owl’s elf-name, her lips curling in a way Bold-One had learned was good, and the owl blinked her eyes affectionately. It was Bird-Friend, the one known to elves as Aiwendil, that the woodsmen called Radagast, that had told Bold-One that Súldil had the meaning of Wind-Lover. It was a good name.
But the Wanderer was upset. Bold-One could see it in the curve of her neck. What’s wrong? She swiveled to touch eyes.
She-Who-Wanders seemed to take comfort in eye-touch. Bold-One thought this strange, for to the owls, eye-touch meant that one was hunter and one was hunted, or that who was leader was yet to be decided. Not so for the elves, it seemed.
She-Who-Wanders explained that her fledge-fellow, the one she called “brother,” had indeed been to Imladris, to visit something called “the libraries.”
And? Bold-One stared.
She-Who-Wanders did not answer the question, though she seemed to understand what was being asked.
Uh oh, the owl fluffed her feathers anxiously. But an ear tuft twitched with amusement, too, for there was a sense here of déjà vu. The fledge-fellows were excellent at getting each other into trouble.
Bold-One blinked expectantly. What are you waiting for? she teased, and the Wanderer sat, moving their combined weights to the ground. She tried to be careful about it, Bold-One could tell, but the movement still forced the owl to deepen her grip uncomfortably on the second-skin.
“Can you carry a message home for me, Súldil?” the Wanderer asked, and Bold-One hopped from her perch with mock indignance. What do you think I am, a call-carrier? Her strong wings bore her up to the lowest bough of a nearby tree. Of course, silly one!
Bold-One watched the Wanderer’s face carefully as she marked the tree-sheet with the pretty swirls that she’d learned could carry thoughts between elves in silence. There was joy in the curve of the elf’s soft-beak; longing in the light of her eyes; guilt in the set of her jaw. Ah… It is for the mate, Bold-One decided. And, indeed, She-Who-Wanders confirmed it to be so as she tied the tree-sheet to the owl’s expectant limb. The feel of it was a little uncomfortable, but Bold-One appreciated that her talons would be kept free for hunting. You are the only one who gets to do this, Bold-One closed her lids halfway teasingly. You better be thankful… She waited for Wanderer to tell her where she was going. It was a pity that she could not speak owl-tongue.
“Oh!” Wanderer paused. “Meet me along the Mitheithel, north of the Great West Road. I will wait for you.”
The owl stretched her legs skeptically and gave a harrumph of her feathers. With directions like that, you’d better, she thought, for the owl knew not what this “Mitheithel” even was. But she had a few tricks beneath her feathers. Don’t worry, silly one, she flexed her wings affectionately, preparing for takeoff. I will find you.
Bold-One leaned into the sky and flew swiftly toward the rising moon, for it would not do to delay this news. But she kept an ear directed back to Wanderer, listening as the elf turned away toward the high moors the owl had ventured into earlier that evening. When she could no longer hear the elf’s quiet step, she turned her attention back to the east.
Walk safely, Wanderer.
A elf's perspective: The Way Set Before Her
