Warnings: very mild innuendo (which doesn't even really merit a warning)
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the beach, I'm just building a little sandcastle.
Like an overeager, all-powerful child, Lord Aulë has skipped from metallurgy to quentë crayon, so we find ourselves drawing on pearl-strung coasts for a month. The model (a soft-smiling Telerin girl: willowy, of medium height, quietly aloof) stands at the water's edge, holding a piece of heavy silk behind her.
Scrutinizing my piece, I set the crayon aside and let my eyes wander.
Nierë is grimacing, while Eäron sketches aimless charcoal circles. To Nierë's left, quirking a wicked smile, Fëanáro glances at the model, then the sea, and lastly at me with a playful question.
Not now: later.
Author's Notes: The muse is kind tonight: this is the second drabble I've posted in the past few hours. And still under the deadline! Yes!
The drawing is by Ivanneth and is used with permission.
I use the term "quentë crayon". The drawing was done in white conté crayon (and charcoal). Conté means "told": it's a past tense form of the French verb conter: "to tell". Quentë is Quenya, and it means "spoke".
This is the second in a WIP series of eight drabbles. See the first one here.