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Subject: ...:::All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter:::... Author: Arathorn [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Date Posted: 19:47:09 12/13/02 Fri In mild ammusement the dust-colored bay watches people - or horses, really - running to and from the ball, most with incredably active emotions. Without realizing it at first, he too transforms into a man. His hair is a mousy-brown, with a wisp of gray around the edges. He once could have been handsome, but chose a life of exile. Commanding was far better than dating, in his book...and now those years were gone. Standing well over six feet, the broad-shouldered man eyes the black travelling cloak his player insisted upon. How old fashioned. A hint of a smile plays at his lips as he settles beaneath a large oak. Grabbing a branch from his side, Arathorn begins to whittle at it. The hood hides his eyes, but is high enough - as anyone would hope - that he can whittle at the slowly-forming object in his large hands. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]