28. Day 30: Long Memories (Fangorn, Fimbrethil)
"No need to get angry, Fimbrethil, no need. I merely pointed out that there is little usefulness in your endeavo, that was all."
"Little? No pun intended, Fangorn?"
"Ho-hum-Boorarooom-brooomm. Well, if the olvar you tend to are small in size, it is no fault of mine."
"You told the others that we--reeeem-reeeeeeem--had been wasting our time on those herbs, for they had not bloomed. Well, reeeeeem-reeeeeem-reeeeeemm, I am here to tell you that, if my flowers died ere they were born, it is because your cruel trees smothered them to death. They grow thick around my plants, drink up all the water, use all the earth, keep the sun away. Reeeeem-reeeeeeemm. It is your fault, not mine. And they are not herbs, they are flowers. And would be beautiful if it were not for your thoughtlesness."
Fangorn felt quite abashed at the manner in which Fimbrethil was regarding him just then, sternly and very, very serious, her big, green eyes so clear that they looked the color of ent-draught. But only that. It was rather useless, all this talk and babbling. He was a tree of action, when action was required, and he would rather be doing other things than arguing--like stroll under the moon with Fimbrethil in tow, singing to the beeches as he went; maybe caress the soft, silky moss that clung to her hair. But she was beautiful! Ho, hom! Fair, lovely Fimbrethil!
"Well, what, ho-hum?"
"What have you to say for yourself, Fangorn?"
"I-ho-hom... ahem... I quite forgot what we were arguing about."
The way her limbs shook in frustration, and that menacing glare, had the most disconcerting effect on him: they made him hasty. In two strides he closed the distance between them and embraced her.
And Fimbrethil let him.
Alas, that in later years her memory proved too good to forget.
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