The Wake of Solitude

Moments after the magical singing heralding the departure of the slight elf, Joylah, Deleaduindill fumed, taking a quiet breath slowly before turning and giving an outlet to the rage that had been fastly building. Wood splintered and shrieked as the heavy dark gauntlet on the ancient elf's fist broke through the armoire door, and again. A powerful strike from his knee snapped the elegant wood paine running up the cabnit's length, causing the door on that side to yaw suddenly, the lower hinge breaking away. Finally, in the summit of Deleaduindill's passion, he tore the splintered door from where it stood, hurling it across the room as his keen dark sapphire eyes watched it shatter on the hard dark granite wall. She was gone.

His thoughts were many, and very quick. Among them, he wondered at why and how he had let her leave. Amongst these, though, the reply that he had already voiced, had surfaced - he would not abide himself a violent trespass on her as he had alowed himsef with others. Yet the want burned him.

His return had been less than a day old, and already his desire for the small elf-lass held him taut like the string of a great bow. Ever since her spell-song had graced his ears he had desired more of it's source; this night was no exception.

Deleaduindill stood in his bedchamber, the echoes of the satin of the small elf's lips still fresh in his mind. The fresh, sweet smell of her hair and the grace, invitation, and understanding she held in her golden eyes stung as much as they soothed him, now - the memories of her presence celebrated in phantom feelings that still tried at his senses, as well as his mind. The savory feel of her small, delicate form in his arms would be his now, to re-live whenever he wished, yet the memory was not enough to pacify him, and would make his reverie that much more enciting.

In a long exhale, the ancient elf harnessed his emotion and logic in a single effort, the change sudden enough to be plainly seen. His dark azure gaze turned more netural, though retained a crisp, fine edge. He blinked, taking a moment to brush his long, silvery-white hair behind his swept and pointed elven ears, and to straighten his cloak before he continued out of his bedchamber. As he tread, he picked up a helmet to match the nether curves of his beautifully wrought armor just before he reached the flagstone that would take him into the main hall of his keep.