|
He was taken aback. His prickly reserve pushed against by her ordinary offer of tea and the tender of her name. He mumbled something, trying to soften the bitterness that had long been the undercurrent of his speech.
She’s only offered tea, fool. And her garden has many of the herbs you need.
‘Tea . . . that would be good. And outside . . . yes.’ He looked about the yard, wondering where they might sit away from prying eyes.
‘Lithmîrë,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘My name, Miss Bunce.’
A spiteful breeze caught the edge of his hood as he spoke, riffling it back, exposing his face. His quick hands pulled the errant hood forward. With a sharp glance from the safety of the shadows, he thought to catch her in a look of pity or disgust.
__________________
In the twilight of autumn the ship sailed out of Mithlond,until the seas of the Bent World fell away beneath it,& the winds of the round sky troubled it no more,& borne upon the high airs above the mists of the world it passed into the Ancient West…
|