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*slips and bounds through the forest on swift little feet, heading for his patron Lady's dwelling place*

*reaches the outer grounds and pauses, balancing lightly on a slender twig, head cocked to the side in a manner reminiscent of a small bird* *listens for a while, bright eyes darting about*

*hops soundlessly to the grass below and scurries into a moonlit clearing surrounded by snow-dusted coniferous shrubs*

*takes his cap from his head and executes a sweeping bow in the house's direction*

*replaces his cap, puts his flute to his lips, and starts to play*

*fleetingly wonders if she'll be pleased to hear, given that a) he's away from his island, and b) he's supposed to be sleeping through the winter*

*wanders as far from Tirion as he can without stopping*

*sticks to the treetops for the most part, avoiding everyone and everything passing below*

*finds a thick, sturdy bough and finally collapses in exhaustion*

*is too tired to think, or to feel much of anything beyond a dull emptiness*

*which is the point, really*