Hope Fades in a Silver Glass
a
drabble series
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III. Drabble VII: Under These Mirkwood Trees
A hundred words, yet none were spoken. They meet at a time when hope was young, when 'We' and 'Us' are yet to exist and 'You' and 'I' are yet to be one.
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"You look at me, Ranger, as though I've another head upon my shoulders."
He shakes his head, amused. "You are a prince."
"And you are a man." The Elf continues to set up camp and frowns at having to set it on the ground. "I would leave you down here, if only my heart can take it."
"I marvel at your hospitality, Master Elf." He snorts. "I would love to meet your father."
"I laugh at the dryness of your humor, but meeting you is enough for me."
He laughs. "I'm in awe at such beautiful start of our friendship."
06 December 2005