All Hues and Honeys by Dawn Felagund

Bitter Ink

Pengolodh after the fall of Gondolin. A perfect drabble for Jubilee instadrabbling, for the challenge Restoration and Rebuilding: "Just like a tree that loses branches and dead leaves in the Autumn, I will rebuild anew. I will rebuild new branches and leaves. I will rebuild and maintain only what bears me fruits." ― Mitta Xinindlu

Facing northward, I gulp the air and try to taste the ash. I squeeze my eyes shut. I try to taste the ink.

Four centuries, I worked over the books in that library. (And the books there weren't just mine and weren't so young as a mere four centuries.) Most of my life. Surely, that should leave some trace of smoke on the wind? Some blurring of the green of spring, some bitter note on the tongue?

No. I sigh. Open my eyes. The metallic shhhing of my pen nib against the ink vial and my fingers begin to write.