The Eleventh Hour

Frodo Silvertongue · 12-03-2011, 01:16 PM

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Word Count ::329 wooo!

The black and auburn male continued to wait, his hands still drumming on his knees, his feet tip-tapping on the floor. Both eager and frustrated, he awaited the arrival of his receiver. Would it be a he, or a she? Would it be someone he knew, or a stranger? Most probably a complete stranger, noted Frodo. Ralla had told him that much had changed since he'd been here. So much had changed. Frodo half wondered about Liliana. She'd come to meet him on his first arrival. But it was not her that approached him this time. Frodo could tell as much, as he made out through the darkness a white form; not dark furred like she'd been. White furred and blue eyed was the female that came towards him. By instinct, he automatically placed a reassuring hand on the bow on his shoulder, but then told himself not to worry. He would be alright. He would be OK. He slipped the hand away, sighing.

The horse at his side stirred and Frodo ushered soft warnings into it's auds. He did not want to be shown up at this moment, as once more he would prove his worth of a pack. It had been raining, and Frodo had not even realised. Blinking through wet lashes, his green eyes scanned Ayasha as she finally came to a halt in front of him. Mr Silvertongue bowed gracefully, showing he was submitting and no threat. The woman had fair reason to be wary at this hour, however she seemed unphased by the dark. He responded to her comment swiftly, in his strange tones. Now, that's just it, squire. I aint no stranger. 'Used to live 'ere, long time 'go, you follow? I'm comin' back, if you'll have me, blackjack. he looked up, eye contact not wavering, his face and eyes kind and genuine. Part of him couldn't believe he was back. And the other part was wondering if he would be allowed back.

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Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

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