#mythuses

A small group of march wardens had made camp not far from the river, and now some of them, including Beleg, had made their way down to enjoy a quick dip in the river – after a long day’s walk, there was nothing as refreshing.

Beleg sat a little apart from the others, cooling his feet in the water. His eye caught on something in the water – was that… someone staring back at him?

She trembled as the ocean breeze chilled her further, her lips and fingers growing blue the longer she sat where the tide could reach her. Dark eyes were focused upon the waves, desperate to see Ossë return to take her away with him and let her live in the safety of Valinor. That was the only place where she'd be safe from Melkor. "Ossë," she shivered, though, oddly enough, she felt comfort in the stranger's presence. "He is my father... He helped make my kind and liked that I had markings that none of my siblings had. Why did he leave me behind?"

Melian looked out to the ocean, her hair blowing in the wind like plumes of black smoke. She had never been close to Ossë, and she knew not his mind. She turned to the child.

The giant, wingèd bat-creature flew after the desperate, sprinting elf. Such fear could the vampire smell, and the faint hint of pumping blood. The elf turned and headed toward the bank of a large river, Echiar pushing themselves to go faster before the other could reach it. When they were just about to snatch them up, claws outstretched, another creature popped out from the water.

No!

He still ventured out alone these days, though many warned him against it. He did not feel endangered, and he loved these new and exciting lands, so wild and free.

As he came over to the riverbank, the sharp red of blood caught his eye, and he instinctively reached for his bow – where the attackers still close by? But when his quick scan of surrounding undergrowth revealed nothing, he rushed over to crouch at her side.

Echiar: Did you like the food I made?

Vera: No, not really.

Echiar: But I put my heart and soul into it!

Pitch black hair, wet and tangled with kelp stuck to her body as she sat in the sand, shivering as watched the waters. All she could hope was that Osse would return for her before Melkor tracked her down. // Vera at mythuses for Melian

Melian delighted in wandering the dark depths of Middle-Earth, in a shape neither woman nor shade, but all her own. No shadow of Melkor frightened her, and where she walked flowers bloomed; at the brink of the sand she stood, where soil and stone gave way to sand, and watched the young horse in the water. Her attention was caught by the shifting of the beast into a child; she had seen the shape in the Song.

“Child,” In a flurry of fog and flowers, she was beside the weeping girl. “Who doth thou call to? Thou feel ainur in spirit, but never have I seen you among the maiar.”