Disclaimer: Not mine, merely borrowed.
For the "Grassland" challenge.
The Universal Language
It's such a silly thing to be homesick over, Éowyn told herself.
Hay-cutting was hay-cutting, after all, whether in Rohan or Ithilien. For menfolk, scything and stacking and sweating in the sun; for women, hauling and bending and tending, food or children or those unlucky victims of over-enthusiasm or carelessness.
Perhaps it was the voices of her own people she missed, the rise and fall of her own language. But when a freckle-faced, dark-haired boy, dumbstruck with shyness, smiled up at her over a cup of cool water, she thought, ofttimes we need no language.