NOTE: I previously had all of my 100-word Hobbit drabbles posted in one place (you can find it under the title "Transience" in my works). Upon reflection, however, I decided that it would be best to move the shipping drabbles to collections of their own, so that those who do not care for a particular pairing will not have to wade through their NOTPs.
Thank you for reading!
Skin
He has the callused hands of a mortal archer. His skin is coarse and cracked. He is as the earth, rock, uncut gems; something solid, something lasting. Though, the years ahead will change him. He will grow.
To my people, I am young. Yet, I have lived over ten of his lifetimes. My hands, after centuries of drawing my bow, remain smooth. As they always will be. I am immutable, static. I will not change. I will not grow.
My hands are soft and young as leaves.
His hands are rough and old as stone.
Yet, somehow, we are neither.