Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter Thirteen: A Homing Beacon

The same evening, as they sat down to dinner in the bunker, Canoelloestel, without looking at either of them, said: "I do not wish to limit your activities here, but for your security, I will advise you to follow some basic guidelines. Act casual, but to talk to the people as little as possible. Every conversation you have with a stranger leaves a trail of breadcrumbs for Gygax and his men to follow. Second, go out as often as possible. If people recognise you, they will not be as curious as they would be, with two random strangers. They are less likely to investigate if you will. Thirdly, be seen together as little as possible. Either people will assume you are relationship partners, which is just weird, or they will think you are siblings, which presents a high level of risk. Fourthly, integrate yourselves amongst the people. Get jobs, visit the market, investigate the scenery, et cetera. Just do anything, if it would prevent you from sticking out like a sore thumb."

"'Stick out like a sore thumb?'" Faramaureä asked, confusion evident in her expression. "How exactly does a sore thumb stick out?"

Canoelloestel paused for a moment, before explaining"I suppose it would be redder than the other digits. It is no more than a saying I picked up in my associations with the dwarves, who, judging by the shapes of their fingers, and their exploits with hammers, were used to having sore thumbs"

Silently they finished their meals, and then Faramaureä stood up, saying: "I would like to go out and see the town. I have heard very little about its appearance, from our grandfather's stories."

"Very well, Faramaureä. Percival, you should probably wait ten minutes or so before following." Canoelloestel arose and began clearing off the table. Percival waved her goodbye, and took care of his plate, as she walked out into the city.

As far north as it was, Le Elyanme did not get a lot of sunlight, and the light it did get did not last for long. Because of this, it was twilight when Faramaureä exited the house, despite the fact that it was only 4:13 according to the tower in the square. The Clock Tower was magically connected to the clock in the front wall of the throne room of Meneltarma. This was designed that way to keep at least one running accurately unless they both fell into ruination.

The people bustled around her, but they mostly kept to themselves, which was more to her liking. She tended to dislike adults because they were the ones who, in her opinion, ruined nature. But children she loved, because in children she saw potential, and purity. Children were, according to her, the point at which humanity truly saw its nature.

Faramaureä took a right-hand turn and entered a flower shop, or what was being called a flower shop by the owners. A bell rang, as she opened the door, and the cashier, who had beforehand been looking bored, sat up excitedly at the proposition of business. "Hello, and welcome to Nurit's Flower shop. How can I help you?" She gestured extravagantly, as though the six near-dead flowers were the Royal Treasury of Karagdawi.

Faramaureä smiled slightly. "I think I may be able to help you." She cleared her throat and sang, "Coilë, nimlothr, Laicalothr ar Orolothr.
Coilë, wialothr. Coilëlde na atlantië."

The plants shimmered a bit, but nothing else happened for a moment. Faramaureä walked up to the counter, and held out her hand to the woman who she assumed was Nurit. Nurit grasped it gently and shook it, uncertain how to respond to the strange elven woman who had just entered the shop, and started singing.

Looking around, Faramaureä took a long deep breath of the frangrances of the few flowers, which, few though they were, filled the six-unit by six-unit shop so completely that she was reminded of the perfume shops in the lower districts of Meneltarma. Impulsively, she reached over and grabbed a yellow flower off of the shelf. "How much would this flower cost me?"