Mortals: A Case Study (On the Topic of Futility)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
44 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris
As stated in my previous entries, I am making all attempts to keep this study in the tone of an academic exercise. I am also acknowledging that there are many points which fail the test of objectivity; realistically, there cannot be a total separation from subjective thought in such a work as this, as it is based on the premise that love can be scrutinized the way that one might examine the lore of obscure tongues of Eriador.
All the same, I shall continue to document my observations on the comparative studies of Mortal versus Elven traits and customs - and trying to balance these with the reality of my growing affections and admiration for dear Cutch. ("Dear Diary: today, Cutch gave me a flower. -squee!-" Elbereth forbid such drivel...)
For instance, shortly after taking up residence at Torech Besruth, Cutch and I were enjoying a moment of quiet reflection as we watched the sunset over the river, the spires of Duillond backlighted against the afterglow. Cutch and I were holding hands in companionable silence, when I happened to look down at our joined hands, and saw several red marks on his skin. I rolled his sleeve up to reveal more of these marks proceeding up his arm; they didn't appear to be insect bites or wounds of any kind. I asked him about these odd marks, and his reply was both amusing, and affectionate:
"These spots are where I keep pinching myself, to see if my life with you is real..." ("squeee!" Stop that...)
To continue this study, I previously noted that Cutch had perpetrated the utterly hilarious act of dyeing his toes. After a brief line of research, I discovered that Mortal women often adorn themselves in this fashion, applying pigment to various parts of their bodies to either attract attention to that part, or distract attention from other parts which might be perceived as unattractive. This made me laugh all the more, thinking how he was trying to apply feminine mating rituals to make himself "prettier" in my eyes.
I am still trying to determine what possessed me to commit my next act. Although my research mentioned the act of dyeing, there was no reference to how the dyeing was accomplished. Cutch had dyed his toes red (my chosen livery), so I obtained a small phial from my house stores of Ered Luin Blue dye (which Cutch seems to favor) and, without precise knowledge of what I was to do, simply laved my feet into the dish of dye. After a few minutes of wriggling my feet in the air to dry the excess dye, I slipped my boots back on, and waited...
Later that evening as we discussed dinner plans, Cutch kicked off his shoes to reveal the dye on his toes was now gone. In a fit of mischief, I kicked off my boots to reveal my by-now deep blue feet. Cutch's reaction was identical to mine from the other night: gales of raucous laughter, this time from both of us from the observation that we have now branded ourselves to each other's herd. (Even more -squeee!- Stop that!!)
So there it is, my pointed attempts at cerebral research are steadily being compromised by a native desire for mischief that I had dismissed, or denied myself. Cutch is bringing out facets of my personality that I never knew I was capable of - or had ruthlessly suppressed all these long years. Perhaps this is part of Elvish nature I had long forsaken; but lately, is becoming futile to resist in the face of a growing love for my Mortal fool.
Next Entry: The Thrill of the Hunt