Disclaimer: "The Lord of the Rings" and all related items belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This is merely an excursion into Middle Earth as it transitions from a land of hobbits and elves to the domain of man.
The Dark Forest – Part IV
I returned home this evening to find that our dinner had already begun. Father was in the midst of one of his fits – he has not been doing well at the shop lately. My father is a carpenter, and a very fine one at that – yet, perhaps he is not skilled enough as to make a successful living at it. I believe that his dislike of the job comes from the instructions that his own father imposed on him when he was a boy. Father told me once – and only once, and only me – that he had wanted to become a musician; a traveling bard. He certainly has a quick tongue to which words swiftly fly when he needs them; but I have never heard him sing. Melin loves to sing, but her powers of retaining melody are scarce. I do not wish to sing. I fear that my loudness would drain all charm of that talent.
I am the loudest child in my family, gods and all be it known. Melin tells me that I should refrain from reciting poetry for fear of inciting the wrath of the dead. I heed her not. The loudness that issues forth from my mouth is perhaps an incarnation of the turmoil that I feel inside. I feel that I am growing – bodily I am growing, for I am all knees and all elbows – yet inside I also feel that I am changing. I shall wake one morning and not know where I am, it sometimes seems. At times I feel like weeping for no reason, and at others laughing with a barely-provoked joy. And then the addition of this new experience – my heart seems to beat more quickly even thinking of him.
It is not uncommon for the girls of our township to marry young. My mother's sister was married when she was only thirteen years of age. But she died nary a year later, in childbirth. I find it both revolting and intriguing that my thoughts have turned to marriage. There is little else for a young woman in this place.
But as to the object of my wants and thoughts…
I wander away from the topic at hand. Mother was furious that I came home so late, although she tried not to show it. If Father even senses another black mood at the table he will sink deeper into his own. But tonight he seemed too far to even notice the glowering looks I was receiving. We had brul tonight. Not one of my particular favourites. Cabbages and turnips may be the height of season right now, but I still have no liking for them.
I think that perhaps if I continue to mull over things so silently, I will become much quieter. After all, the less one speaks, the less one delights in the sound of one's own voice.