The hunt had been long and difficult,
Laurelin’s light had been warm, and it had been too long since
Curufinwë’s last participation to one of Oromë’s rejoicing hunt. He
had enjoyed it, tremendously, but now his whole body was aching, his hair
was messy, he was hungry and his boots were ruined. All he wanted
was a moment of solitude in one of the saddleries, where he would be able to take
off his dirty clothes and adorn himself with clean, elagant attires.
The feast that followed the hunt would soon begin, and Curufinwë
would never stepp into Oromë’s house with muddy pantaloons and a
He was completely bare, half hidden by
the shadows of the little room, when he heard the door behind him.
That was rather unexpected, but Curufinwë barely moved; after all, rare were those among these skilfull hunters who hadn’t seen
another Elda naked, and Curufinwë himself had never been embarrassed
by nudity. He knew his rhöa to be attractive – he himself enjoyed
looking at it – and if anyone else had the opportunity to have a look at
it, then he expected them to feel blessed with luck.
As he picked up his robe and dusted it
with the back of his hands, the Fëanorion finally turned to face the
intruder, who, quite unexpectedly, was still on the threshold; Oddly,
Curufinwë had thought they would have left before he could glance at
them, if only in the name of respect and reserve. But he had been
wrong, and now he was looking into his cousin’s face, and still he held
before him the light and soft fabric of his robes.
“Írissë,” he began with an amused
smile. “What were you expecting to find here?” His hands fell
down, and although he didn’t notice it, the robes in his hands were
now hiding (rather clumsily) the lower parts of his body. “And more
important; What are you looking at?”