Rating: General Plus
Warnings: implied character death
Genres: spiritual, tragedy
Length: single drabble
Summary: A baby Nandorin Elfling wonders about the first ever rain that he experiences.
Notes: According to Lore and Customes of the Eldar, an Elf can already talk and walk and even sing and dance at the age of one. Then you could put this wee one at probably the age of eight months or so, belonging to Denethor's people. (Denethor the Green Elf, not Denethor the Steward of Minas Tirith, of course.)
43. Tears
Water Cries
I never saw water droplets fall down in droves like this. I was drenched quickly, before Emmë picked me up.
"Emmë, what is happening?" I ask. I burrow deeper into her embrace, but peek an eye out, watching the sheets of water tumbling down, listening to them roaring past the forest canopy too.
"The sky is crying," Emmë murmurs, as she tightens her arms round me. "We lost so many people yesterday."
Yesterday: Ata went with other men, and they never came back. I cried then, Emmë too. Is the water also being sad about Ata and the others, then?