Arhuine meets Longlimb again

Center of Fangorn
You are embarking through the boughs of Fangorn. A path lies here, seemingly made by large and heavy beings as the dirt is packed and smooth. The trees about you have an ominous way about them, making you feel uneasy to be here. The trees themselves seem to make the path, as all other ways are blocked. Continue carefully, for there are things unheardof that live within these woods. Although the trees become very protective of their land at this time of night, there is just enough of a patch of light from the silverly moon to enable you to see your path clearly.

As if she has never moved, Arhuine sits in the very same place beneath a tree, writing in her journal by what little starlight manages to escape the foliage above.

From off along the hard-packed road, the sound of distant footfalls comes; heavy steps of massive feet they are, one after the other in something of a sedate, measured gait. As a counterpoint, a deep rumbling-mumbling tune resounds along the endless tree-lined alley. Slowly, and illuminated by the light of the stars high up that filter down through the eaves of the ancient trees, the thing enters into view: tall it is, with long and gangly branch-like limbs, with many grasping rootlike toes that gouge great clumps of sod up from the earth with every step it takes.

With scarcely a moments thought the elf maids voice is raised in a song. A song that uses the Anods deep rumblings as a refrain. Looking up she smiles, putting down her journal and rising. All the while singing her song in that ancient tongue.

Down along the way walks the Anod (forsooth, an ent it is) with bark of silver-grey. It's tune drones on, though the words are quite unfathomable to thine ears. It meanders, if meandering it be; wandering aimlessly from one side of the path to t'other, allowing it's long twig-like fingers to lightly brush at the trunks of the trees. Quite self-absorbed it seems, it's methodical mind lent towards it's own long, slow thoughts. And yet, as it draws near to the maid, whose merry song draws it from it's reverie, the Anod's ruddy lips do smile, curling forever upwards. "<Quenya> Hooo, the old tongue." Says it, "<Quenya> A pretty sound, I suppose. Not often is it used, I think... hmm. No... they use lesser words now, ones not so pretty." It's glossy hazel eyes take on a quality of depth momentarily, it's face a nostalgic expression. "<Quenya> Ho, yes. Even remember learning our first word in that tongue, so I do... long, long ago."  The ancient thing's voice trails off, at it looks suddenly to the maid, "<Quenya> Oh, hello. Greetings, yes, yes. Delightful little firstborn..."

Arhuine cocks her head to one sipde, her smile growing. "<Quenya> Old? Tis my fervent hope that it is not, but alas, spoken far too seldom for my tastes." She bows her head reverently. "<Quenya> Well met again. Tis a joy to me to hear another speak the proper tongue of the quendi." She laughs lightly, "<Quenya> And a greater joy still to be able to say as much without having to glance about fertively first! You are well tonight I trust? And your charges?"

An awkward silence fills the pause that ensues. Seemingly in thought, at the last Longlimb manages an embarassed cough-ne-rumble, "<Quenya> Hoho... well, well, yes well. And them? My cares? Hoo... I hear them only from afar now... my children are in the highlands towards the Hithaeglir... hmm, yes. They sound well enough. No..." A sneer, "<Quenya> Orcs up there."

Fangorn illuminates with the light of the rising sun. All about you trees turn towards it, as if in welcome of the new day.

Arhuine's smile fades. She shakes her head sadly. "<Quenya> My sympathies then to you. That must be sad and cause thy heart to chill." She brightens a little. "<Quenya> But my compliments to you on your mastery of the high tongue. It must be said the Anyd are a versatile people. Oh! Have you heard word from Fangorn? He said he was going to call a moot."