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Elladan peered over his brother’s shoulder at the scattered balls of
screwed-up paper that littered the desk. “What are you doing,
little brother?”
Estel jumped. “Nothing,” he mumbled, briefly trying to hide
the sheet before passing it reluctantly to Elladan.
Elladan read the heartfelt words and crossed-out lines carefully.
‘She is as beautiful as the night morning
twilight breaking dawn.
Her hair is as golden as the sun buttercups
the rising sun.
Her voice is …’
He gave the sheet back to his brother, placing a sympathetic hand on
his shoulder. “Estel, we will make a poet of you yet.”
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