[Somewhere, there very likely is a Rossiel pausing to have a giggle at the thought of tiny anvils, and entirely uncertain what brought the image on. There’s a song in there somewhere, she thinks, one of those bawdy sorts the tavern-going folk are fond of these days. It could become very popular…]
“Ha, yes– I have it now:
O what do you forge with an anvil so small
So small that you scarcely can see it at all?
Must you work with the tiniest hammer and tongs
And strike to the rhythm of tiny forge-songs?
O what do you forge with an anvil so small
So small that you scarcely can see it at all…”[Lazily, in the air, you might, just might be able to see the wavering image of a huge smith pondering his tiny tools. And Rossiel is pleased, for she’d never before managed the trick of doing this with her songs. Maybe she’s getting better.]
Lindethiel paused and grinned, hearing the notes of the song dancing over the shrubbery that separated them. She could nearly see the ridiculous imagery of the lyrics, and she slipped between branches to see who it was crafting such skillfully silly rhymes.
“That was charming. Great innuendo in it, too; an instant classic.”
“A song about me? It’s beautiful, I love it, thank you. I’m so happy the world is full of song and merriment and joy and GREAT FRIENDS LIKE YOU.”
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 