Post by bliedr on Nov 24, 2011 19:25:41 GMT -5
Aëthír gazed out of the window of his house. It was unique in Ília Fëon - perhaps in all of Du Weldenvarden - in that it was sung from a giant blood-red tree, who's only branches were high above the tree-line. The elf that had given it to him, Skaäblim, had come from over the ocean in the far east, where the trees were apparently commonplace. It was a beautiful tree, and Aëthír had been more than happy to sing his home from it. The distance from his house, which was above the tree-tops of the other trees, to the ground did not phase him. In fact, it offered a measure of security that no other house could. Wards protected him and warned him of intruders, and he had a wide view of the forest around him, and on a good day, he could even see the plains clearly.
Today, he had asked a bird to sit still for him while he sketched it with a piece of soft graphite. The elves of the city loved his sketches, as they were born of years of practice and patience. A few were curious as to why he made drawings of things that could be made just as easily with fairths. Aëthír just liked having something to do, it passed the time. Most understood this. Elves all had hobbies.
Finished, he placed his pencil down, and let the bird leave, and placed the paper upon the wall, keeping it there with a quick spell. He had noticed that he had plastered his walls with so many pictures, that the room had decreased in diameter by several inches over the course of the many years he had lived there. He supposed there was a very large amount of magic there; he wondered if that affected the room at all. He doubted it, though one could always be curious.
He leapt down the platforms built for him to quickly ascend or descend the tree, and landed with a soft 'thump' on the foliage below. Aëthír didn't have anywhere in particular to go, but he wanted to stretch his legs, as he supposed that he would at some point have to rejoin the rest of the world in their strange games and social protocols.
Today, he had asked a bird to sit still for him while he sketched it with a piece of soft graphite. The elves of the city loved his sketches, as they were born of years of practice and patience. A few were curious as to why he made drawings of things that could be made just as easily with fairths. Aëthír just liked having something to do, it passed the time. Most understood this. Elves all had hobbies.
Finished, he placed his pencil down, and let the bird leave, and placed the paper upon the wall, keeping it there with a quick spell. He had noticed that he had plastered his walls with so many pictures, that the room had decreased in diameter by several inches over the course of the many years he had lived there. He supposed there was a very large amount of magic there; he wondered if that affected the room at all. He doubted it, though one could always be curious.
He leapt down the platforms built for him to quickly ascend or descend the tree, and landed with a soft 'thump' on the foliage below. Aëthír didn't have anywhere in particular to go, but he wanted to stretch his legs, as he supposed that he would at some point have to rejoin the rest of the world in their strange games and social protocols.