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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dlsharrock" data-source="post: 4306448" data-attributes="member: 55833">Normally, Aranel thinks to herself as she wafts through the underbrush, I could have retired by now. The thought has a wry tinge to it, but she finds she doesn't really mind. Dusk seems to shrink back from the fringe of the trees, preferring the remains of the day beyond and the cowled oil lamps of Men to the denseness of Mirkwood. In the woods dusk quickly becomes night. Out here, near the edge, and on the steepness of the mountain side, the trees are tall and straight, ferns and firs swaying gently in the breeze, the air filled with the scent of pine. Not much further in the trunks become thicker and firs give way to older, darker trees whose branches seem to reach out one to another like enfolding arms. Occassionally a slender beam of moonlight, lucky enough not to be caught in the tangled boughs above and the matted roots below, stabs down thin and bright. But this is seldom, and as any who work on this side of the woods would know, more seldom still further in. Black squirrels (who never seem to sleep) watch from branches above and scratch their tufted ears. Their bright eyes are like marbles amidst the glimmering green of leaves and their dark shapes are eery holes within deep browns of branch and twig. Queer noises come from the depths as quiet settles. Grunts, scufflings and hurryings in the undergrowth and among the leaves that lie piled endlessly thick in places on the forest floor, telltale sounds of uncanny creatures none can see.The forest at night has a beauty all its own, though perhaps beauty only an Elf can appreciate.The circumstances that led to the necessity were less than auspicious though. The Men of the logging camp had taken from the stand near the old oak. Perhaps, as they claimed, it was merely a mistake. After all, Men lacked good eyes for night work...and Aranel believed it was most likely done at night, when there were long hours she did not range and keep watchful eyes on the lumberers.So now she had to make sure there were no further mistakes.From the thinner, younger trees of the forest skirts she can see the firelight twinkling like a fallen star amidst the endless rolling brush and earth that rises up into the mountains behind. The sounds of laughter and bellowing can be heard, though faint even to her ears. Aranel pauses for a moment, wondering if they would act differently if they knew she was lurking nearby. She is comely to the eyes of Men; fair skinned with dark mysterious eyes and dark hair which she keeps in a single braided tail when out and about. In Thranduil's house she lets it down and appears in a gilded gown of green and gold with garlands of flowers in her hair. Here she wears a tough leather jerkin reinforced with tiny metal ingots, each one painstakingly crafted with images of trees and flowers in relief. Though leather, by long and patient tanning and working, it has the suppleness of cloth yet can resist tearing from thorn and branch and even knife if struck a glancing blow. Her breeches are lighter, of a finely worked cloth, strong as heavier fabric, but slowing her not at all, and dyed a deep olive shade that with the brown of her jerkin makes it simple to hide among foliage and brush. In a case across her back is her Elf-craft bow and a quiver. At her left hip hangs her sword, at her right her other quiver. She carries little in the way of supplies, for she knows much of how to gather what she needs when she needs it.The moment of quiet is shattered by a loud cry of THIEF, as clear to Aranel as if it had been shouted in her ear.So now they steal from each other, as well as from the wood?Curious, she creeps closer to the camp to see what new game is afoot.</blockquote>

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