All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.
I hope your dedication to this activity is such that you are willing to follow me around the forge inside an active volcano, because I do not have time for recreational grooming. There’s a war on. I have duties.
While not opposed to it, I am disinclined to sit still and be petted while there is work to be done.
And I cannot. Stress. Enough. How much you will dislike the outcome if you try to braid any hairs besides the ones on my head. I’ve had quite enough of you Greycloaks and your fascination with what I presumed was a normal attribute of human bodies. If you want to understand why this is so, try pulling out one of your own short hairs, and then imagine the discomfort it would cause to have another person braid them.
…That said, I’d hardly kill you for a touch. At worst, I’d consider it rude. At best– well, that’s a discussion we might have after making proper introductions.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 