Elentir caught a speeding yellow cab and leapt inside. He couldn't help but notice the driver took a second glance at him. He was growing rather tired of all the wondering and funny faces. He had given up his usual clothes for the restricting, impractical man's garb. He had put on thick shoes, which sometimes fumbled his usually graceful stride, and learned their language so that his elegant voice spoke it like none other. Yet young Elentir felt he did not belong. As these thoughts passed through him, he sadly told the driver the street he was destined to and sat back in the seat, depressed. "Are you a metal rocker?" the cab driver asked with broken English. Elentir threw a smile and shook his head. "Anyway, I like your hair."
"Thanks." The sooner the ride was over, the better. Nothing was as comfortable as a horse. Elentir struggled to pay for the fair and crawled out of the car. Looking up at the old, decaying apartment building, he sighed again and started up the stairs. He had to mind the low door frame, but was glad he was short at six foot flat. Finally, he reached his room; a number was missing from the middle and the first digit swung on one nail. After a bit of fidgeting, the door opened, and he stepped into his new home. Boxes littered the walls, but one piece, a beautiful bow with a well-polished quiver, remained unpacked. It was a bit cold in the room, but what could he do. His landlady was convinced he was some sort of lost hippy. He dropped into an old chair he found and started to pick through his mail. Suddenly, a strange feeling came over him, a sort of deep-pit anxiety. There was a letter from home. Overcome with nervousness, he tore at the vanilla envelope. A group of three-petaled leaves, the center longer than the opposite sides, fell onto his lap. "Yallume!" he exclaimed, beaming without fear that someone would give him another different look. The green gifts were like silk upon his fingers. Eagerly, he read its contents. The characters were like the notes of a symphony—pure Elven, in its original form.
Elentir-
My dear friend, how are you? We all miss you terribly here at home. I spoke to your mother and she hopes the big city life is suiting you well. Perhaps one day, I will come and visit you! I want to meet all of your man friends. We had a festival the other day! There was an arching contest, and Elves all the way from Neverwinter came. I told them you were born there in those woods, and they said, 'Yes, we know Elentir, that rascal!' Don't fret, friend, I beat them all! They know best than to challenge a Mirkwood Sylvan! Your sister is getting married soon, you know. Perhaps you should send her a gift from your city. She sang for us at the festival, I only wish you could hear her voice. We are creatures of adventure, you and I! Oh what great things you must be doing!
Dearly,
Legolas
Also- I made those Lorien splinter-shooters give me some leaves for your new home!
Elentir bit his lip to keep from crying. Only if he knew what a horrible time Elentir had experienced. As soon as he read that last line about 'splinter-shooting' Lorien, he nearly lost it all. He missed his home so much, and if there was some way, he would return. He didn't dare face his father, though, who told him he would not like living in a man's city. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Elentir wiped his eyes and brushed the letters aside. Staggering, he opened the door.
"Mr. Starwatcher?" Elentir found a small, frail lady before him. She slowly looked up and adjusted her glasses. "Mr. Starwatcher? You haven't paid your first rent yet." Elentir nodded, covering his brow.
"I know, Mrs. Olsen, but you'll have it by the end of the month." She smiled and wandered off, gawking at the next door. He closed the door and covered his face. He didn't even have a job after a week of living in the city. Sadly, he sighed and walked to the window. At least the tranquility of the open sky would calm him for another day.