In the woods skirting Minas Tirith
The day was half passed, the light of the sun spread upon the woods that stood on the edge of Minas Tirith.
Within those woods, hidden by the dust-grey and light green clothing he wore, a silver-haired Elf ran lightly up the near sheer trunk of a tree without any apparent effort, hands lightly skimming branches as he ascended the magnificent oak as easily as a mortal man would ascend a staircase.
A laugh of genuine glee escaped his lips as he reached a broader branch, swinging up onto it and running lightly upon it, his toes barely touching the bark as he sped forth, leaping from one tree to another with the grace and confidence of a cat, occasionally disturbing small groups of birds, who took wing, warbling their protest as the Elf continued on his way.
Swinging outwards, the Elf launched himself over onto the immense branch of an ancient beech that stood closer to the Keep walls, skimming to a halt, his eyes aglow with the sheer delight of his freedom. Being surrounded by the natural world was one of his loves and, were his family to seek him out, they knew where to find him: somewhere in the forests, often in the highest of trees.
Unlike his brothers, Haldir and Orophin, Rumil was far from concerned about the face he presented to the world. Let them be formal and intense. There were sufficient Elves who were calm and refined. Very few allowed their true spirits to show forth. Rumil was one of the few who was happy to do so, uncaring of what people thought of him, happy to be a friend to all, particularly because his brothers found it a source of great consternation and bewilderment.
It was all because of the incident at Helm’s Deep, where they had almost lost the middle of their number, which had caused him to view life differently. No longer did he believe that wisdom and passivity were the only way. No, they would not die any time soon, but they might be killed the next day, without ever having the chance to savour all that life offered and he, Rumil, was eager to taste everything.
Letting his legs slide from beneath him, he dropped into a seated position on the broad branch, looking down at the gateway that lead from the Keep’s gardens, wondering if it would be a good day for leaping out and startling a poor helpless human.
Men were a source of great amusement for the youngest of the Lorien brothers. They did not understand his kind, something he frequently took advantage of, their often harmless and volatile natures so very easy to play with. Orophin despised them, while Haldir was neutral, but Rumil found the poor, naïve and genuinely quite silly creatures absolutely hilarious in recent circumstances.
Yes, there had been the incident of the war, but Rumil had also made a point not to dwell on the past or worry about the future unless it was absolutely necessary. He peered down onto the grounds again, lying down along the branch as a big cat would, his eyes half-closed as he surveyed the opening. All he needed now was prey. Current Mood: giddy