The soft rain is more a mist, drifting about me. I do not mind it. At times it brings an ache to my leg... but that is so much a part of me now that I rarely heed it.
I have left subtle signs for him. I give him seven days. If he is about, he will find them and come to me on this hill. I think at times he needs no signs deliberately set to find what he wants. I could wander, but in truth it is better he comes to me. I am not chasing him up hill and down dale. He is likely to turn it into a challenge, once he knows I am on his scent.
I can take my ease, attend to the preparation of my favourite balm for a child's rash. It is potent, but smells so good I could almost eat it. Which is a problem, with children.
The ingredients crushed and combined ... ah.. there it is, that familiar enticing scent. Scent is so evocative. I remember... yes... I remember as clear as day the first time I made this. And why not? I am entitled to a little pride, working out how to make this for myself , when I was only young. I admit, my first attempt was a little more ... ah... pungent. And a lot stronger. I remember having to push Amloth repeatedly out of the way as he bothered me with questions. I will admit too - and he knows it - that I deliberately let him taste it, just out of curiosity. To see what it would do.
We -both- wanted to see ... that is what I told them all, afterwards. But he at five and me twice his age .. I was to blame when his lips swelled to twice their size and his eyes disappeared into a round, moon-like face. I could not help laughing, laughed even more as his grey eyes tried to bore into mine crossly. A fierce and proud little pup he was.
He will smell this from the next hill, even without a carrying breeze. He will come, striding up, grim faced. But I will know, and he will know what the scent is and the memories wrapped in it. For a brief moment we will be children. Then he will glare at me, as though he dares me to comment on that moon-faced day. And I may just smile.
