constellations

Late spring, Forlindon, a year ago

Somewhere out there, an owl cried.

Hoot hoot

Earcalie snorted, sat alone on the porch of her house, trying to understand from where the cry was coming. The porch was almost all in the shadow, lit only by the flickering light of a lantern hanged onto a beam, already on the way to extinguish by itself. The elleth didn’t care if it was extinguishing.

It was an evening, the Hobbit mused, of which you could hope it would never end. The air was warm despite the evening falling, the water was singing in the brook nearby and the wind lay asleep in the grass - and there were Elves about, Elves telling tales and singing and dancing as light as the mists danced over the meadows.
She looked to the darkening sky, pointing out one glistening like a jewel in the dusk.
"The stars are coming out now, lady Nimlith. What of your story?"