Laurelindo

A scene of confusion met her eyes as Uilossiel opened the door to the healing room, piles of fresh bandages in her arms. A mangled body lay upon the bed, which she assumed to be Lord Estarfin, and Lady Danel sat very still in the corner of the room, attended by Elvealin. Eliriael and Laurelindo were already hovering over the patient on the bed, while various other lords of Vanimar spoke in hushed tones nearby. She caught a glimpse of Dolthafaer standing in a corner conversing with Lord Anglachelm, but quickly looked away.

Once again alone in his workroom, Laurelindo was smiling, in a very good mood, though, not in the mood to work... again. This day was proving being a very unproductive day when he was concerned. 

Eregion, A Lifetime Ago

Tyulussë took one of the plants from the basket and passed it on to his companion.

“This is called yarrow.”

It was a pretty thing, small snow-white flowers clustered at the end of a long leafy stem.  The other elf hesitated a moment before taking it, and then simply stared at it, clearly wondering why he was being asked to hold the flower. 

“Oh.”

“Easy enough to find.  The flowers may be yellow as well.”

A crisp breeze wafted up to the higher branches of the tree where Luthelian sat with her legs bent and a leather-bound notebook on her lap. This particular notebook looked as common as any other – no fancy linings or gilt edges – but the owner had taken the liberty to sketch upon its leather surface, all sorts of unrelated images and elvish in all possible directions, that it was quite impossible to guess which cover was the front and in which direction the notebook should be held.

Valanya, the 6^th day of Hrivë

Menelya, the 53^rd day of Quellë

Laurelindo was enjoying a slow morning at home. The weather outside was fair, however the elf was inside, an open book on his lap, writing supply on the nearby table. ​

"The day yesterday was... fantastic. 

Well, fantastically boring, with the exception of two meetings. 

The door swung upon and Parnard strode into the room. He was dressed more formally this day, in flowing robes dyed a blue so deep that it was almost black, wearing a delicate silver diadem that glinted on his brow.

“What might be the date?” he asked, pushing aside a stack of papers.