Even before our blood rode down from the north, my people lived in a bond with their sacred ground.

On the night of the first planting moon, a woman with the magic of “the voice” would sing alone to the fields. Clad in a white shift, red gold hair and moonlight, she poured forth our hopes like water. She danced barefoot on the fresh-turned earth to the beat of her body’s drum – each beat a footstep, a heartbeat, a pulse.

I don’t know why I should dream of that tonight, just because I danced at a wedding and became ensorcelled.


This drabble is for Nessime, if she will have it. It was written for a challenge at Henneth Annun to reference another story that has moved you.

See Nessimes lovers there in If Ever Two Were One

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for private enjoyment, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.


September 2003    
scribbles henneth annun   write to me