Green

A gasp, a choking cough, and then Faramir is gulping great lungsful of blessed, cool air.

At first, his nostrils are still full of the stench of burning, and he shudders, seeking escape. Strong arms are there to hold him, though, and gentle hands ease him down. A quiet voice speaks his name.
A scent rises from somewhere close by: a green scent, neither fir nor new willow nor fresh-cut hay; something with the sharpness of yarrow underlain with the faintest tinge of apple blossom. Something he has not ever smelled before, but recognizes at once: the scent of hope.2007 MEFA Award Winner First Place in Times: Late Third Age: 3018-3022 TA: Gondor Drabble