Authors Note: I just started this one time and was hoping to develop a complete story. I need reviews to continue Writing, so just keep 'em coming. Reviews, suggestions, and consturctive criticism are all welcome, but flames belong in fireplaces, not here. Wilarwen is the Elvish word for butterfly, not a wierd variation of the name Arwen. Eh, since I absoloutely suck at Elvish, I'm trying to keep it to a minimum, and if the words seem mutilated, my excuse is that it's a 'different dialect'
Disclaimer: Middle Earth belongs to Tolkien. I made up the Raamalie, but Lorien, and elves and everything else are his creation, not mine.
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Wilarwen delicately shifted her toes around a tiny leaf bud, to balance on the twig. Carefully, opening and closing her wings, she stepped gracefully along it. Drops of water shone from the ends of leaves, prisming the sun's welcoming morning light. The rays made small rainbows dance across the ground as she lithely walked and swayed the branch.
The clear stream babbled on, making sparkles like diamonds on it's surface from what sunlight crept through the treetops. Several children laughed merrily as they ran along it's banks, fishing, swimming, or using lilies as boats. There is never a lack of adventures as a child. And for one who is smaller than a bird, the adventures are even larger.
The Raamalie were indeed small folk; but not small in the way of dwarves or hobbits. A fully grown Raamalie could stand at eye level to a rabbit, or less. It is said that the elusive race desended from elves, being of close structure in proprtion, but it is not known how they came to their current form. Their most separating feature, perhaps, would be their wings. Light and leaf-shaped, it is a great marvel at how strong and agile these wings have proven to be, as well as the creatures who use them.
It is little known as to how or where the Raamalie can be found, and few come to see their life and ways. From what has been gathered by outsiders, they live much like the elves, in their love of song, poetry, and other merriments, as well as having a formidable reputation along the lines of being skilled in combat even with big people.
In the woods near Lorien, there was a settlement of these very creatures that strecthed along the length of a tiny stream. Not many ventured far into this part of the wood, and the Raamalie lived in general isolation for many many years. And there was, in the third age, a young one, a girl, named Wilarwen, who had a curiosity of her cousins, the elves, and went often to visit Lorien. This is where our story has begun. It is the tale of a race, not lost, but nearly forgotten, and the one of them, who dared to travel beyond their borders.
Wilarwen dangled her legs over the edge of her perch and watched the children play. She scanned the group for a familiar face, and finally found her brother fishing for minnows in the creek. Gently, she slipped off her branch and landed softly on the foliage. As she walked over, her brother heard her and without even looking said,
"You've been off to Lorien again, haven't you?" She sat beside him and tugged on his fishing line.
"How did you know?"
"First, you've been gone all afternoon, and second, you smell of elf."
"So good to see you too," she said, hugging him around the shoulders just enough to get a little grunt of annoyance out of him.
"I'm trying to fish here" he grumbled, staring intently at the cork on the end of his line.
"You wont catch anything. What are you using for bait?"
"Raspberry." He shook her off.
"Use a ladybug. Their color attracts the fish." She pat him on the shoulder snd got up, satisfied at her little attempt at the instruction of her brother.
"You know Aunt Marilla hates it when you go to spy on the elves." said the boy, trying to get back at his sister in some way.
"Well, she dosen't have to know, does she?" said Wilarwen, slyly.
"Hmph!" he slouched and yanked at his line. She sighed and pulled a tiny stone that fit in the palm of her hand, and held it before his face.
"What's that?" he asked, taking a hand from his pole and touching it.
"An Elvish miir." He picked it up and cocked his head to the side.
"Did you steal it?" he asked suspiciously.
"Of course not. This is just the shard of a broken pendant that one of the craftsmen threw away. Promise not to tell Marilla?" He contemplated this and said,
"Agreed." He put the gem in his pocket and went back to his fishing. The deal made, Wilarwen walked from the driftwood log where they sat and leaned against a tree. She pulled a small knife from it's leather sheath and started to carve at a stray piece of wood.
Still intent on catching a fish, her brother stared out over the water and yawned. A leaf drifted lazily downstream, and a mayfly landed daintily on top of it. A bird trilled it's song into the fresh air. A tug came on the fishing line and immediately made him gasp with excitement.
"Hey! Wilarwen! I got something!" Somewhat surprised, she put her head up and watched him jump excitedly, pulling at his fishing rod. Shaking her head, laughing, she went back to her bored carving and gave no thought to the splash that followed, until no more sound came. Immediately she looked up and dropped her knife to run over.
"Maliniel!" She halted at the end of the log, breathing anxiously. "Maliniel, this isn't funny!" she hovered over the water and searched for shadows, before quickly diving in. Beneath the surface, she spotted the fish with the line in it's mouth, and her brother who had his ankle tangled in the string. Beating her wings furiously to gain speed, she reached them and grabbed her brother by the wrist. Though, as hard as she pulled, they kept getting pulled downward. Turning, she bit the fishing line in half, freeing her brother, and they both shot to the surface.
She dragged her gagging little brother on to the sand, and he got up on to his feet shaking the water off.
"You scared me!" she said, a bit angry at him now.
"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, digging his toe in the sand. She straightened his bent wing, and gave a heavy sigh of relief and frustration.
"It's alright. Let's go home. We'll have to change."
"Wil?" She turned her head, resenting the nickname he had given her long ago.
"Yes?" Wilarwen tried to remain sweet.
"This will make a great story." he said, smiling to himself. She laughed and shook her haid once again,
"Yes. Of course it will."
Disclaimer: Middle Earth belongs to Tolkien. I made up the Raamalie, but Lorien, and elves and everything else are his creation, not mine.
******************************
Wilarwen delicately shifted her toes around a tiny leaf bud, to balance on the twig. Carefully, opening and closing her wings, she stepped gracefully along it. Drops of water shone from the ends of leaves, prisming the sun's welcoming morning light. The rays made small rainbows dance across the ground as she lithely walked and swayed the branch.
The clear stream babbled on, making sparkles like diamonds on it's surface from what sunlight crept through the treetops. Several children laughed merrily as they ran along it's banks, fishing, swimming, or using lilies as boats. There is never a lack of adventures as a child. And for one who is smaller than a bird, the adventures are even larger.
The Raamalie were indeed small folk; but not small in the way of dwarves or hobbits. A fully grown Raamalie could stand at eye level to a rabbit, or less. It is said that the elusive race desended from elves, being of close structure in proprtion, but it is not known how they came to their current form. Their most separating feature, perhaps, would be their wings. Light and leaf-shaped, it is a great marvel at how strong and agile these wings have proven to be, as well as the creatures who use them.
It is little known as to how or where the Raamalie can be found, and few come to see their life and ways. From what has been gathered by outsiders, they live much like the elves, in their love of song, poetry, and other merriments, as well as having a formidable reputation along the lines of being skilled in combat even with big people.
In the woods near Lorien, there was a settlement of these very creatures that strecthed along the length of a tiny stream. Not many ventured far into this part of the wood, and the Raamalie lived in general isolation for many many years. And there was, in the third age, a young one, a girl, named Wilarwen, who had a curiosity of her cousins, the elves, and went often to visit Lorien. This is where our story has begun. It is the tale of a race, not lost, but nearly forgotten, and the one of them, who dared to travel beyond their borders.
Wilarwen dangled her legs over the edge of her perch and watched the children play. She scanned the group for a familiar face, and finally found her brother fishing for minnows in the creek. Gently, she slipped off her branch and landed softly on the foliage. As she walked over, her brother heard her and without even looking said,
"You've been off to Lorien again, haven't you?" She sat beside him and tugged on his fishing line.
"How did you know?"
"First, you've been gone all afternoon, and second, you smell of elf."
"So good to see you too," she said, hugging him around the shoulders just enough to get a little grunt of annoyance out of him.
"I'm trying to fish here" he grumbled, staring intently at the cork on the end of his line.
"You wont catch anything. What are you using for bait?"
"Raspberry." He shook her off.
"Use a ladybug. Their color attracts the fish." She pat him on the shoulder snd got up, satisfied at her little attempt at the instruction of her brother.
"You know Aunt Marilla hates it when you go to spy on the elves." said the boy, trying to get back at his sister in some way.
"Well, she dosen't have to know, does she?" said Wilarwen, slyly.
"Hmph!" he slouched and yanked at his line. She sighed and pulled a tiny stone that fit in the palm of her hand, and held it before his face.
"What's that?" he asked, taking a hand from his pole and touching it.
"An Elvish miir." He picked it up and cocked his head to the side.
"Did you steal it?" he asked suspiciously.
"Of course not. This is just the shard of a broken pendant that one of the craftsmen threw away. Promise not to tell Marilla?" He contemplated this and said,
"Agreed." He put the gem in his pocket and went back to his fishing. The deal made, Wilarwen walked from the driftwood log where they sat and leaned against a tree. She pulled a small knife from it's leather sheath and started to carve at a stray piece of wood.
Still intent on catching a fish, her brother stared out over the water and yawned. A leaf drifted lazily downstream, and a mayfly landed daintily on top of it. A bird trilled it's song into the fresh air. A tug came on the fishing line and immediately made him gasp with excitement.
"Hey! Wilarwen! I got something!" Somewhat surprised, she put her head up and watched him jump excitedly, pulling at his fishing rod. Shaking her head, laughing, she went back to her bored carving and gave no thought to the splash that followed, until no more sound came. Immediately she looked up and dropped her knife to run over.
"Maliniel!" She halted at the end of the log, breathing anxiously. "Maliniel, this isn't funny!" she hovered over the water and searched for shadows, before quickly diving in. Beneath the surface, she spotted the fish with the line in it's mouth, and her brother who had his ankle tangled in the string. Beating her wings furiously to gain speed, she reached them and grabbed her brother by the wrist. Though, as hard as she pulled, they kept getting pulled downward. Turning, she bit the fishing line in half, freeing her brother, and they both shot to the surface.
She dragged her gagging little brother on to the sand, and he got up on to his feet shaking the water off.
"You scared me!" she said, a bit angry at him now.
"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, digging his toe in the sand. She straightened his bent wing, and gave a heavy sigh of relief and frustration.
"It's alright. Let's go home. We'll have to change."
"Wil?" She turned her head, resenting the nickname he had given her long ago.
"Yes?" Wilarwen tried to remain sweet.
"This will make a great story." he said, smiling to himself. She laughed and shook her haid once again,
"Yes. Of course it will."