Nelthiel

Brasseniel studied the snowflakes that fell into her open palm, shining white against the black leather glove only for an instant before they melted in the warmth of her breath. 

The door to the armoury was thrown open with a force that rattled it on its hinges, startling Ararusco into dropping his charcoal pencil.  It rolled over his careful notes and fell to the flagstones with a clatter.  He turned in annoyance to see who had made such a noisesome entrance and was met with the sight of a furious dark-haired maiden approaching him.

“What is this I hear about you refusing to teach my sister to fight?”

Brasseniel was still humming the last song of the night under her breath as she let herself into the room. It had been a lovely evening of music and dancing with others of Bar-en-Vanimar, practicing their steps for the Yule Ball.  She was sad that it ever had to end.  

She found Nelthiel curled up in a chair by the fire, cooing over a soft ball of fur in her lap.  A kitten?  When and where had her sister found herself a kitten?  Brasseniel had to wonder how long it would take for her to fill their rooms with every stray that Imladris had to offer.

Brasseniel did not realize she was alone until she was halfway down the hill.  She stopped and whipped around to look behind her, blue-grey eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Nelthiel!" she snapped.  "What do you think you are doing?"

There was her sister, sitting on a rocky outcrop near the top of the hill, a bundle of grey fur in her lap and an expression of stubborn determination on her face.  

"Resting!"