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Right...so we have the summer basically off...anyone care to write… - The Salad Bowl

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June 26th, 2005

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10:35 pm

Right...so we have the summer basically off...anyone care to write some more? By the way... this does not advance the plot at all, really...so...yeah. Enjoy it anyway!

Elean stretched languorously, eyeing their new companions out of the corner of her eye. “Hello,” she practically purred. “I’m Elean.”

The man called North looked up from greasing the leather boot, but refrained from responding. 

She huffed in annoyance, and then tried again. “North, why do you keep polishing the same spot on that boot?” Elean’s eyes crinkled with delight at his sudden discomfiture.

“Thank you, girl.” North’s eyes flicked up from the shoe for a moment, but dropped hurriedly back into the silence. 

Elean was quite sick of the silence. Silence was boring. She hated being bored. “Tiran?” He voice was plaintive.

He sighed. “Yes, Elean?” She only took this tone when she wanted something, it seemed.

“Tiran, will you sing me a song?” The dark haired girl draped herself across her companion’s lap. “Please, Tir? Something of the Caravans?”

Tiran looked at her dark eyes, so imploring in the flickering light and gave in. “Fine, Elean, which one?”

“Um…” Her forehead creased with thought. “I don’t care. You pick one.”

“Okay.” Tir cleared his throat and hummed a few bars. “For you, Fairest Elean.” Elean blushed. “Listen close to hear the tale I tell, a tale filled with woe and all things fell…

There lived a lady by the North Sea shore

               Two daughters were the babes she bore
               One grew as fair as in the sun
               So cold, dark, grew the elder one
               A knight came riding to the ladies' door
               He travelled far to be their wooer
               He courted one with gloves and rings
               But the other he loved above all things
               "Oh, sister, sister won't you walk with me
               To see the ships sail o'er sea"
               And as they walked the windy shore
               The dark girl pushed her sister o'er
               Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam
               Crying "Sister, reach to me your hand
               Oh sister, sister please let me live
               And all that's mine I'll surely give
               "It's your own true love I want, and more
               That thou shalt never come ashore"
               And as she floated like a swan
               The salt sea bore her body on
               Two minstrels walked by the windy strand
               They saw her body float to land
               They made a harp of her breast bone
               Who's sound would melt a heart of stone
               They took three strands of her yellow hair
               And with them strung this harp so rare
               They took this harp to her father's hall
               There to play before them all
               But when they set the harp upon a stone
               It began to play alone
               The first song sang a doleful sound
               "The bride her younger sister drowned"
The second string, when this they tried
In terror sits the black haired bride
The third string sang beneath their bow
"And now her tears will surely flow"” Tiran’s clear tenor floated over his captive audience, weaving an enchantment over them so that they could do naught but listen. When the last word slipped back into the silence from whence it had come, Elean sighed blissfully. 
“That was beautiful, Tir.” 
The harsh, rhythmic clapping of the dark-haired young man startled them. “Bravo, minstrel, bravo.” 
Tiran grinned proudly, but his voice belied his façade. “Ach, sir, I am not a minstrel!” The modesty that inflected his tones caught the dark man’s ear. 
“Then what are you, oh humble one?” He leaned forward into the light and Elean saw that his face was not as gaunt as she had thought, but covered by a beard instead. 
“I?” Tiran laughed. “I am a wandering hunter, nothing more,” he scoffed. 
The other man stiffened almost imperceptibly. “What, then, do you hunt, Sir Hunter?” 
Deryl snorted derisively. “This one?” He laughed again as the blue gaze turned to him. “Tir hunts women. I do all the work.” Deryl’s expression inflated with boastful pride. “We hunt the elusive unicorns.” 
“Praan!” North’s hand shot out to grab his friend. 
“You. Hunt. Unicorns.” Praan glared at them, his face a mask of hatred, his eyes, glittering with fury. 
Deryl continued on, seemingly oblivious to the outbreak of the older man. “Yeah, we used to use her as bait,” he jerked a thumb at Elean, “But then she and Tir took a tumble and that was out. Unicorns be worth a lot of money. Means we get food.” Deryl’s grin suddenly faded as he noticed the expression on Praan’s face. 
“Deryl,” Elean never took her eyes off of Praan and North. “Shut up. Now.”


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