Momentary
His hair is unkempt, obscuring most of his face, but his eyes are bright, dark, and knowing. Looks up at the sky, sees the time, and smiles. Holds a finger to his lips: Quiet.
A beckon. Follow.
Running down the deer trail, slipping through the knobby, prickly pines, and into a hidden glade where the weak winter sunlight filters through the trees, throwing jagged shadows on the half-melted snow and wet earth.
He stops and points. Watch.
The sun breaks through the trees, illuminating a single white flower. And the Elf thinks, Perhaps these mortals know something we do not.
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May 4, 2005. Instant drabbled: Boromir, pair, follow, watch.