"I'm not crying, Eryndil," Araréiel said without conviction, her cheeks the color crimson with embarassment, though a lone tear began it's descent. "Well, okay, maybe I am...a little. It's just that you said the name of L-, o-of an old friend of mine, one whom I dearly miss. The only one I ever felt I could truly talk to. He encouraged me to follow my heart despite what my family told me to do, to love who my heart loved, not who they told me I must."
Finally a little maid came over and asked her what she would like. Araréiel placed her order before turning to Eryndil.
"Would you like anything?" she asked. Eryndil shook his head to show is content, and the maid scurried off to the back to place Araréiel's order with the cook.
Araréiel turned in her seat to fully face Eryndil, her curiousity getting the better of her. She tentatively reached, with a slight laugh, out to touch his hair, feeling the need to assure herself that it was really hair. Then she smiled. "From the trees.... You are an Elf, yet you come from the trees? Please explain this to me."
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