Weft by Grundy

Weft

Yavanna frowned at the tapestry taking shape. Since she no longer walked the lands on the far side of the sea, the Weaver’s work was the easiest way to know what was passing with the Children.

“I had expected them to vary more,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “But the offspring look much like the parents in most cases.”

Vairë’s response was the impression of an amused shrug. Had she been an elf, she might have chuckled.

“I am disappointed. I would have expected you of all of us, Kementári, to appreciate seeing a living pattern playing out before you.”