They didn’t say anything, but blushing and giggling, they turned and ran through the church’s front doors. I again thought about the fact that I was short one concubine. Then I came to my senses.The service was comforting in its predictability. Song, opening prayer, three songs, communion service, song, sermon, and final song. I didn’t need to use a hymnal; the songs were all ones that I had memorized as a child. The arrangements were all four-part harmony, and I knew the tenor and bass lines. I had been singing with Paula and the girls, so my voice was in fine fettle. I threw back my head and opened up my throat, enjoying myself.Perhaps I enjoyed myself too much. By the third song, I noticed that I was getting sidelong glances from the around the sanctuary. I throttled myself back and concentrated on blending in. The sermon was innocently boring. I had decades of practice in maintaining a pleasant, alert look on my face while my mind planned my next steps.After the service, I was. The Forks or as it came to be known to the tribe after three generations, Feawen Numenesse, was in a great valley that was surrounded by the mountains that gave birth to the rivers. The Myonna tribe had grown comfortable in their valley, never interested (as elves often are) in the troubles of the world. Things had been quiet in Feawen Numenesse for hundreds of years. Occasionally nomadic tribes of elves that would often traverse the mountain passes in search of rare roots and herbs would bring news of the kingdoms of men, voraciously expanding in the quest for empire, but the Myonna paid them no mind. The sweeping granite mountains provided too great an obstacle for the interests of men to overcome. Besides, there was no gold or silver in the valley, nor washed from the mountain by the rivers. Celahir Felagund, the keeper of the Myonna would often shake his head, commenting on the pettiness of humankind as he traded wool and salted fish to the nomads for the rare steel tools, herbs.
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