30 June, Post-Script

One of the city guards stopped me just a moment ago as I walked back from the training grounds. It seems that word has gotten about that there was an elf present in the meadhall a few evenings ago. Silwe, he called himself. Grand and imposing like an ancient tree, he was! A moment of tension passed between him and Saexwyrd, as the latter stumbled onto the former and was quite shocked, understandably. Hands were laid upon sword-hilts, but no blade was drawn, and all was calm after. I suppose the guards must do their due diligence in questioning the presence of outsiders, especially one of this nature. For my part, I found...does one address an elf with "Mister"? "Lord"? Dear Béma. Well, I found Silwë (he had a longer name, but I cannot recall it) to be soft-spoken and gracious, with a tongue like something out of old songs that one might expect our fore-fathers uttered. Even so, I know little of these matters, and I won't rely on my personal impressions to determine if there should be caution around this visitor or not. But, my goodness, he was lovely to look at! I ought to write to Cesistya and tell her about it.