“Look, just there.” Grandfather whispered. Barahir shifted slightly, rustling a dry leaf underfoot. A shimmer of emerald and gold, and the bird was gone.
Number 111. Bee-eater. Three days tramping the woods of Ithilien with his grandfather – what a treat! Grandfather knew the names of all the birds, and the flowers, and even the stars. He had given Barahir a small leather-bound journal, just like his own, to keep his notes and sketches and a list of all the birds he saw.
As the evening grew chill, Grandfather warmed some spiced wine, treating Barahir to a well-watered mugful. Nestled cozily together, they watched shooting stars streaming like fireworks across the sky.
This was written for Tanaqui, who asked for drabbles set in Ithilen. As I had recently returned from a weekend playing Rangers of Ithilien with my daughter, Adventure Sally, I had much material to draw from! A rare occurence.