Quiet Amongst Books
Elowen was probably the most natural thing to happen to the Hogwarts library besides a moths can of the wood or the leather bound tomes of wisdom it self, she sort of looked like she had grown right there, a tiny little forest plant among the big trees and books. Light came through long stained glass windows, and the nice colors of a warm amber and a moss green decorated her freckled face. Her hazel eyes changed colors, to match the light; green when it shined directly and amber when it was off. The part of her hair that was not plaited was lying across her chest, and there was a scratched piece of copper wire in which she had found on the school yard earlier this morning. It was a kind of story-device she thought, if it had been an attached narrative she would have been the strand.
Before her was an opened book, The Gentle Bestiary of Curious Magical Creatures, the pages of which were decorated with water-color sketches of creatures that it was hard to say if they were only myth or really existed. Her finger went to the spiral of the deer of the moon's head, animals that were said to live in cloud forests where the sky met the mountains. She imagined their fur being smooth and them being silent and always warm like her.
When Elowen comes to read something, to her it is not through words that she passes- rather she actually comes to the characters and scenarios of the stories. The library did not have absolute silence around her, in fact, it was quite alive with subtle sounds. There was the soft turning of one or the other page, the now and then hitting of a quill on parchment, and the distant rattling of the librarian moving things with her typical precision. Still, all these noises seemed to be very gentle and delicate, like the faint sounds of a forest at dawn.
Elowen was very much into it, and she remained calm and very much in the present moment. Her hand went to the shoulder bag and from it, she pulled out her small notebook, the one which had pictures and bits of fantasy worlds written in it. On the blank of a page, she set about the figure of an animal she had been mulling over for quite a long time: a fox-like creature with the wings made of fall leaves and its fur changing with the four seasons.
Not one of the names for it, but she was always sure that names come forth when they are ready. There were no strings attached to her hand and brain; while she was sketching, her mind drifted to the stuff she had read a few days ago: Bowtruckles, small and lovely caretakers of wand-wood trees; the timid and bright glimmer sprites that only appear where laughter is genuine; and a lake spirit, which is a rumor and that lives in the farthest corner of the Black Lake, where hardly any sunlight enters.
Elowen liked those kinds of creatures whose existence is only half-told and half-believed. They, the unnoticed ones who live that way and yet play their part in the world's shaping, had an inherent quiet bravery to them, that was her reasoning.
There was a small group of students at a table near that of Elowen who were speaking of spells, and their voices showed that they had ambition. Elowen gave them a look and then went on with her work. She was quite the fan of power, nevertheless, she found greater strength in it through being gentle. Not by showing off but by being herself only, was she going to be an extraordinary person if that was her intention.
She took a moment to consider, and her eyes followed the path of a lone autumn leaf as it passed the window, the wind holding it gently. Her lips curved slightly. Magic was not always like a thunderous crack, was it? Sometimes it was just the world's silent way of talking to people who listen. And Elowen was listening. As always.
Before her was an opened book, The Gentle Bestiary of Curious Magical Creatures, the pages of which were decorated with water-color sketches of creatures that it was hard to say if they were only myth or really existed. Her finger went to the spiral of the deer of the moon's head, animals that were said to live in cloud forests where the sky met the mountains. She imagined their fur being smooth and them being silent and always warm like her.
When Elowen comes to read something, to her it is not through words that she passes- rather she actually comes to the characters and scenarios of the stories. The library did not have absolute silence around her, in fact, it was quite alive with subtle sounds. There was the soft turning of one or the other page, the now and then hitting of a quill on parchment, and the distant rattling of the librarian moving things with her typical precision. Still, all these noises seemed to be very gentle and delicate, like the faint sounds of a forest at dawn.
Elowen was very much into it, and she remained calm and very much in the present moment. Her hand went to the shoulder bag and from it, she pulled out her small notebook, the one which had pictures and bits of fantasy worlds written in it. On the blank of a page, she set about the figure of an animal she had been mulling over for quite a long time: a fox-like creature with the wings made of fall leaves and its fur changing with the four seasons.
Not one of the names for it, but she was always sure that names come forth when they are ready. There were no strings attached to her hand and brain; while she was sketching, her mind drifted to the stuff she had read a few days ago: Bowtruckles, small and lovely caretakers of wand-wood trees; the timid and bright glimmer sprites that only appear where laughter is genuine; and a lake spirit, which is a rumor and that lives in the farthest corner of the Black Lake, where hardly any sunlight enters.
Elowen liked those kinds of creatures whose existence is only half-told and half-believed. They, the unnoticed ones who live that way and yet play their part in the world's shaping, had an inherent quiet bravery to them, that was her reasoning.
There was a small group of students at a table near that of Elowen who were speaking of spells, and their voices showed that they had ambition. Elowen gave them a look and then went on with her work. She was quite the fan of power, nevertheless, she found greater strength in it through being gentle. Not by showing off but by being herself only, was she going to be an extraordinary person if that was her intention.
She took a moment to consider, and her eyes followed the path of a lone autumn leaf as it passed the window, the wind holding it gently. Her lips curved slightly. Magic was not always like a thunderous crack, was it? Sometimes it was just the world's silent way of talking to people who listen. And Elowen was listening. As always.