Amanien in Common Talan

Common Talan
This spacious talan is wrapped halfway around the great trunk of its tree, concealed from below and sheltered from above, but allowing a magnificent view. The gleeful babble of the stream far below joins the song of the birds and the sibilant chant of the trees and the distant laughter of Elves, and behind it all, the Song of the Wood. Two light, freestanding screens block out the wind on the western edge; a tall cabinet, plain but elegantly proportioned, stands on the eastern side, beside a stack of firewood and tinder and not far from the entrance hole in the floor. Soft furs and thin white cushions surround a round, slightly concave stone set near the middle of the flet, its center blackened by many a cozy fire. A long table curved to match the trunk holds cups and carafes and trays of food whose smells mix with the gentle sweetness of the flowering vine growing thick on the tree trunk.

Amanien sits by the edge of the Talan, looking down at the mix of foliage and water that the view awards her with.

Miriamele dusts off her dress casually, humming a very soft, very faint tune to herself 

Turning her head after displacing the heavy curtain of mahogany hair, Amanien looks up and greets the two elves that come to the talan, "Mae Govannen!"

Dusk settles, shadows lengthen as the sun finishes its journey westwards, ducking beneath the horizon to leave the woods swathed in the darkness of early night. Silence ensues, an almost eerie abscence of noise, as even the birds (which but recently delighted in the beauty of the sunset) cease their twittering. So deep is the silence, that you note the quiet ascent into this Talan of an elleth; cloaked and cowled in stormy grey which leaves her features near indiscernable, she bears upon her back a satchel, and across a shoulders is slung a bow.

Miriamele starts, knowing that she was watched, but coming alone, she nods and smiles to Glinden and then back to Amanien, "Mae Govannen.. Lovely day, is it not?"

Amanien observes both women and nods, "It was most magnificent for summer indeed. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Miriamele smiles, uncaring of the hour of the day, it is still beautiful. She tilts her head, looking in the direction of the pillows, towards which she glides softly, her soft leather boots making only whispers of sound.. When she has seated herself comfortable, she hoists the front of her gown, adjusting the amount of bosom to be seen by those around her, and to assure the neccessary support.

Upon sight of those other two present, the elleth might be seen to smile her greeting, were it not for the cowl which overshadows her visage; Promptly though, she relieves herself of the article that she might better see the pair. Shaking loose her wealth of coppery hair then, from the ties whence it was held; she nods to each in turn, allowing herself at once the luxury of a cursory exam of each. "Summer here is ever beautiful mellyn," Her smile widens at her words, "Greetings to you both."

Amanien gives a single nod to the second elf, pausing a bit before speaking. "There once was a time where the wood extended further, and indeed one could only see the tapestry of green extending south, north, east and west. But summer remains beautiful, as do al other seasons under this canopy of green."

Miriamele adjusts her dress about her ankles, not saying much, just watching.

Brushing an errant lock of hair from betwixt her eyes, Gillhach nods then; "Indeed, alas that not all of us were born it time to see't." Her chest and shoulders heave with a somewhat weary sigh. At once you note the dust and grime upon her person, no doubt accumulated over days of hard travel; her heavy boots are weathered and mud-spattered, her cloak affected similarly near the knees. With that, the maiden moves to seat herself upon the flet, aside the bowl of the tree."But you see much beauty here, a beauty gone in other places."

Amanien stands up, her tall frame unfolding with grace. "It seems I am the guest, but you require some rest as well--what is the weariness upon you," as she speaks with an accent to the sindarin, her eyes sweep over the realities of dirt and mud, "...perhaps from your own journey?"

Waving that off with an absent motion of one hand, the elleth manages a somewhat wan smile, as she suffers the pains of weariness; "I come, I go, hither and thither about the land..." Her lilting voice trails off as in some attempt to alleviate the cramp that settles even now, she sets about stretching the occasional muscle about her body, "Weariness is inevitable, but 'tis transitory...of the moment." She adds almost in explanation, "We are timeless."

Amanien lets a small frown build upon her brow, but couples that with a smile, "Yes, that is our nature...And yet you answer me not."

A smile curling her lips at that, the elleth manages a somewhat brief nod in reply, though she seems otherwise concerned "You are right of course," With that, she pauses to rub at the small of her back, where her pack but recently rested. "Currently, my weariness is twofold; admittedly from my journeying, as you see. And more so, yes."
"I have walked the paths from the havens by the sea to Imladris, and from there to your borders. I feel the distance but not the time it has taken me, yet I see you feel both, and more." She looks down to her hands, fixing her gaze on her ring before looking up again, "I am but an old stranger in a land both known and new--you do not need, and perhaps should not, unburden yourself to me."
"Age is nothing to me, nor should it be to any of our kind," She parts her hands expansively, "Here we sit in a place where time stands still, I feel not the passage of years; for what are they indeed? But a sum of the innumerable days with which we are blessed." She shakes her head then, "And yet, when I leave this place, as I am oft' forced to do, I feel the weight of the years upon me; much happens beyond the borders, lives begin and end for those other folk that there are; and it is such that I could blink an eye and miss't." Then she sighs, he chest rising and falling with the lengthly exhalation, "And no, I would not wish my problems on another, much less a guest of the Lady."

Amanien ponders silently the words of the elf, her hands crossed on her lap and caressed by strands of hair finding their way down her shoulders. Eventually she nods, "The world changes, yes, but what is it to us? Ephemera, acts that move as a river while we float in its stream."

Amanien
Wisdom is worn playfully on the dark green eyes of this tall figure, set against ivory skin framed by long mahogany strands that fall down to the small of her back. High cheek bones further accent the eyes, downplaying the pleasant nose and gently posed mouth. Her movements abound in grace and are edged with unused strength. A straight-cut green tunic that V's on the neck falls unencumbered, loosely cinched by a brown belt woven with gold thread. Brown pants of the same tightly woven material as the tunic fall over the brown leather of broken-in boots. On her right index, a large sapphire crowned with gold shimmers in its regal blue glow.

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Miriamele
You see an elven woman, short, but elegant. Her steps are silken like the wind on velvet petals, her body flowing like water, always into the most comfortable position. Her eyes are a golden amber, and like her hair, a delight to look upon, she smiles bashfully at many things but that is when she is quiet. When she speaks, her voice has a lilting sweet quality to put others at ease, and she usually has a quick and witty remark to something of touchy subject. Her hair of amber color is drawn back from her face in a french braid, the long remaining hair is tied at the base of her neck with a small silver ornament of a dove. Her ear displays a small silver earcuff, glittering even in the faintest of light. On her left hand is a simple silver engagement ring, with an inscription inside. Her feet are clad in soft supple black leather boots, her slim and lithe body is clad in a flowing black gown, the edges laced with silver twine, which glitters as she walks. The neck and chest of the gown are square cut, showing ample bosom. Across her shoulders, an accoutrement that she is seldom without, whatever the outfit, is a golden cloak, the color of the leaves of the mallyrns, it is bordered with a slight silver trim, around the bottom and a silver cord to fasten it, on the clasp is a silver dove, holding a leaf. She smiles to those who see her, and she has a wrinkle beside each eye, to express a great age, and the determination she puts into her responsibilities as Craftmaster.

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