Book of Hours by heget

Bastet

Tulkas and Nessa

They express themselves in actions, in broad movements that demand the use of their entire bodies, in dance and physical contact, loud and joyous and seemingly thoughtless. So it might surprise someone to see Tulkas the Mighty, the boisterous Valar of brute strength and physical prowess, so still. The laughing lord is muted, and the brightness of his presence dimmed. His voice, when he speaks, is aught but a whisper, and even the brassiness of his beard seems somehow dull in the Treelight. He has drawn into himself, mindful that his regular aura can be overwhelming. The reason for this thoughtfulness is apparent. He crouches before a nursing cat, her newborn kittens blind to the smiling god who leans ever so carefully as to not upset the mother cat’s boundaries so that he may watch these soft newborn creatures. Nessa, curved over his back like a longbow, her dappled brown form draped over her husband with her chin perched on his shoulder, watches the cat and kittens as well with equal rapture. The only outward sign of her excitement is the strength by which her fingers dig into her husband’s shoulder and the squeaks of enthrallment each time that a tiny mouth yawns.

“Tell Vána I want cats,” Nessa whispers. 

Tulkas smiles. “I remember seeing large ones in the Song. Golden ones and ones as spotted as the fawns.”

“Oh,” Nessa coos, “I like the sound of those.”