Whimsies by Grundy

Wane

“What think you of these fascinating new lights in the sky?”

Írimë considered her answer.

“I believe I prefer one that sprang from Laurelin,” she said slowly. “Its constancy is more to my liking.”

“Ah, but if Telperion’s flower were so constant, we would not be able to enjoy Elbereth’s stars so,” he host replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

She bit back her undiplomatic first thought. She mustn’t offend Círdan of the Falas. Nolo would be furious.

“That is true, yet I prefer not to have to plan my comings and goings around a light that waxes and wanes.”