A double drabble for Eruwestial on her birthday (11/19/2007).
Easy for you to say ya pointy-eared Elven princeling. I grumble, but the words are gentle, hold no malice.
Stumbling with my own bone deep weariness, I watch him glide before us, each move as effortless as breathing – as being. In every motion he is as unlike the Ranger and me as water is unlike earth. With speed undiminished by time, untouched by hunger and doubt, he flows effortlessly, a mithril vein seamed throughout the very air that surrounds us with its mundane touch. And like the kiss of mithril, he enriches all he deigns to touch with the sparkle of his unbounded energy.
The rocks do not know his tread. The whispering steps of his doe clad feet touch naught but air as he passes. The unforgiving stones that rend without mercy the feet of their brother cushion him as if with eiderdown. They do not move him, though they send both Dwarf and Man sliding and stumbling with ease.
They do not move him, but through his grace he moves me. Revived by sudden understanding I know now that my life, once filled with a comfortable normalcy, shall never be the same.