On the Wings of the Wind

[Copper Dragon]

From time to time the elf dubbed Dove sits outside the city - be it on a boulder near the road, under a tree or in unseen seclusion. She sometimes plucks her harp, hums or looks out in silence... but she always observes the wildlife around.

She is no sage of the woods, nor a warden of the wild places; but she seems to be a master of Sound, a seeker of elven mysteries in plain sight, and finds it important to listen to the music of her surroundings. Indeed, the elf whistles and mimics bird songs sometimes - out of boredom or a sense of appreciation - nigh-on indistinguishably from the real creatures. More than due to the unpronouncability of her name or the soft white of her hair, her bird-mimicking may well have been why she first earned the nicknamed 'Dove' by whichever humans granted it.

Flighty, alien, idle; the way she spent her solitude would leave humans wistful, envious or frustrated. Is this what one of the Fair Folk fills decades of time with - inconsequential, artistic, slow fancies?

Perhaps with something more, though no one will know it but a handful, if that much.

Somehow, be it in the whispers of the breeze, the rustling of the trees or through some secret messages of elfkind, Dhovainithil listened for news regularly; news of beings that were rare in number and elusive in countenance in Impiltur; news of the elves she'd met already.

News of Celith, Speaker of the Winged Mother; news of the elf-wingless Kallian; of raven-haired Lierra; of the arrow-singer Cael Reth; of even the half-human Elis; through eyes and ears a hundred Dhovainithil listened to learn if they fared well, if they lived or left. From time to time... she would watch out for her fellow People, so few left on the mainland of Faerun.


OOC: Dhovainithil attempts to keep tabs on her fellow elves in Impiltur for one reason or another.