With a wary squint at the rather vocal and rude bird, Lindethiel snatched up the note and shut her window quickly. Last thing she needed was bird shit all over her room.
She read over the note twice, brow furrowing, and drummed her fingers against it as she glanced toward her door. Elrond may have such a map, but the most likely person to have such information would be Lord Cirdan. Which felt more wrong than shuffling through the maps in the library here, so hopefully there would be something sufficient in Imladris.
If not, he’d have to make do without it.
Noticing the little angry bird still at her window, she grabbed up a plate with half a slice of bread from her dinner and carefully slid the glass up just enough to push out the peace offering.
She startles, completely off-guard in the safety of Imladris. Swiveling to give a bewildered look at the bird taking a rest in the tree behind her, she pauses to also make a slow check of her surroundings. Nobody is around, though, and while there are plenty of open windows in the House, she doesn’t see any silhouettes lingering as though awaiting a response to something.
Confused and curious, then, she twists and snaps open the capsule, shaking out the note within to read. She tenses immediately, breath catching. You fucking nosy– how the hell did you even-? Reading through the note and chewing on the inside of her cheek, she exhales noisily. Fine.
Glancing up at the magpie uncertainly, she tucks the note and capsule away, hiding them in the water-pouch-turned-alcohol-pouch at her hip. A waste of perfectly decent wine, but it is the only place she can think to hide the evidence until she gets back to her quarters.
Pausing as she turns to wander down a path further from the waterfall, she looks up and whistles a short little melody at the magpie. “I’ll sing for you when I have a reply,” she whispers to it, then quickly makes her way among the trees.
The vast majority of people who talk to themselves on balconies do not receive a reply. However on this night, perhaps because there was a warm easterly wind blowing, or perhaps again because there was a red star rising in the south, peering over the mountains like a furtive spy, there came a sort of answer in the form of fluttering wings and a clever little hooded face alighting on a branch adjacent the occupied balcony. Just a magpie, nothing more sinister; late though it was for a magpie to be out.
The bird flicked its long tail, beetle-black eyes fixed on the elf with more comprehension than was comforting, and let out a shrill avian laugh– each long cry lilting upward like a taunting question.
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