[There is noise, of course. For elves there was almost never silence, their hearing was too sharp, just like their vision to allow them true solitude. But at this moment as she sat there, Mithiel was unhearing. It was as though her fëa was outside of her body, unable to connect to anything but the rumbling deep within the earth and the sound of water rushing forward and then drawing away cracking branches and dragging trees with it as it goes.
She is aware, vaguely, of the presence of others–the elves drawing away and something, someone drawing near but elf or human or orc, she does not care. Her bones could sink into the earth and she would not be sorry about it. How could she ever care about anything again? How could she be whole when her life was being slowly drowned, salt choking trees that had never been near the sea a day in their ancient lives? Trees that had talked to her, loved her, carried and cared for her? Trees that had lived before the sun and the moon and had protected her and her kin for all these long years?
Her horse is still nearby, loyal to a fault and watching the approaching stranger with the wariness of a wild beast noting the sudden presence of man or wolf, but still, Mithiel does not shift from her spot on the ground, tucked as closely as can be managed to the tree without somehow becoming one with it.
It is only at the very last moment she realises the person is right there and talking to her. Their accent is strange as she tilts her head slightly, listening, and then turns her dark gaze upon them. Her skin is ashen, her lips parched and flakey except where she had clearly been biting at the skin there. Dark circles are under her eyes in a way that elves seldom showed tiredness.]
The human caravan went northeast, about a day ago. [She says softly.] You will still be able to catch them. [because she does not want or need anything that can be given by anyone unless the Valar might spare a thought for their lost children for once, or even more helpfully, Eru might. But the One seems to have no time for them and their suffering and she drifts immediately back to staring out over the lapping water, deflated and unwilling to continue on or find a way past this darkness.]
no subject
She is aware, vaguely, of the presence of others–the elves drawing away and something, someone drawing near but elf or human or orc, she does not care. Her bones could sink into the earth and she would not be sorry about it. How could she ever care about anything again? How could she be whole when her life was being slowly drowned, salt choking trees that had never been near the sea a day in their ancient lives? Trees that had talked to her, loved her, carried and cared for her? Trees that had lived before the sun and the moon and had protected her and her kin for all these long years?
Her horse is still nearby, loyal to a fault and watching the approaching stranger with the wariness of a wild beast noting the sudden presence of man or wolf, but still, Mithiel does not shift from her spot on the ground, tucked as closely as can be managed to the tree without somehow becoming one with it.
It is only at the very last moment she realises the person is right there and talking to her. Their accent is strange as she tilts her head slightly, listening, and then turns her dark gaze upon them. Her skin is ashen, her lips parched and flakey except where she had clearly been biting at the skin there. Dark circles are under her eyes in a way that elves seldom showed tiredness.]
The human caravan went northeast, about a day ago. [She says softly.] You will still be able to catch them. [because she does not want or need anything that can be given by anyone unless the Valar might spare a thought for their lost children for once, or even more helpfully, Eru might. But the One seems to have no time for them and their suffering and she drifts immediately back to staring out over the lapping water, deflated and unwilling to continue on or find a way past this darkness.]