"Ow"...
Carandriel had not exaggerated when she has spoken of one hundred brushstrokes to properly care for hair. Fairlain winced and felt her eyes water, but she said nothing and let the elf maiden continue her ministrations. Already her brown hair was almost to her shoulders and it shone with dark lights of chestnut and walnut. Caranadriel had trimmed it carefully, clicking her tongue a little when she had seen the rough-hewn edges Fairlain's dagger had made.
"So what was it like traveling with a Númenorian?" 78....79....
"A what?.." Fairlain's head was pulled back so she could see the blue sky above her. 80....
"It is said when you came here before with Hiril Gladaewen a Númenorian traveled with you...one of the Dúnedain?" 82...83...
Fairlain blinked her eyes; these terms were still not familiar to her. "Oh...him. Yes."
Carandriel continued, "We know THE Dúnedain very well here, of course" 84...85... "He has been with us since he was a small child, but we do not often see others of his people. They say they are tall men, with eyes the colour of the sea?" 86...
"Yes....he is tall." Fairlain winced again. She felt like rubbing her head, but thought better of it.
"And what is his manner? Does he tread this world differently from other men?"
"Ow...he...he likes small beasts...like squirrel." 88...89...
"Small beasts? Does he call the small creatures to him as the Istari do and speak with them?" 91...92...
"He...eats them."
The brushing stopped.
Fairlain turned around to see the elf maiden regarding her with a stupefied look, brush in hand. Taking her chance she rose quickly and gave the maiden a quick hug of thanks. Running quickly she left the veranda before the elf recovered herself to take up her brushing again.
