Niphredil was sure that the Doriath fun run was next month, not this month. She stared after Saeros and Túrin, who were quickly becoming specks in the distant shadows beneath the quivering leaves of the wood and absently raised a hand to pat down her hair, which had done a rather inelegant stand to horizontal when the pair had sped past with a loud and disconcerting whoosh!
Beside her, her sister Elanor was standing on her tip toes, her hair a frazzled tangle about her head; one hand resting upon the trunk of a nearby beech, the other pressed against her forehead as she sought to follow their flight more closely than her sister. "Goodness, I never knew Saeros had such a good body."
"I never knew he could run," Niphredil replied. "Is the fun run this month or next month?"
"Next month. Perhaps they are practicing. Oh, oh, did you see his body, sister?"
"I was more absorbed with Túrin's sword."
"I did not see it. What a pity! The Secondborn have such big ones, I hear. Oh, what do you suppose the silly fellows are doing?" Elanor craned her neck, but on finding herself now unable to descry the runners, lowered her body back to the forest floor with a heavy sigh. "Oh, that was exciting," she fluttered. "Perhaps they will do another round. Would you mind terribly if we stayed here a while?"
But Niphredil was not listening. She was already staring in the direction from which Túrin and Saeros had come. "Oh look!" she exclaimed adoringly, "here comes Mablung."
