I enjoyed this sheaf of drabbles!

And you are! Hurray. Just stalking you my dear, and looking for anything you have written recently. Lovely writing.

I love your Carnistir and the very gorgeous Tarylindë.

This is very beautiful- such a visual image you have created, such a sense of ternderness and creation.

This is very tender and beautiful. In it, you say everything there is to say. I wish you would write a longer Findekamo/Maitimo- a sequel to AMC where they start to realise what there is between them. My dream come true that would be. 

I don't quite know how you do this- make such a short scene so utterly complete. So much in this; the refusal to allow them to make Feanor a martyr (and it never occured to me before that they would try! Curufinwe's hands- that focus on their grime, their depserate scrbbling to save dust, is terribly poignant- and the heavy heavy irony of Maitimo (still) is so weighted. Brilliant.

This creates a wonderful image of darkness and a voice speaking out of it- the Odon myth is really interesting here. (and of course, the Christ myth too) An ordeal that yields gifts, not only th story but the voice too. I like the idea that Pengolodh is outside the lamplight.

Oh, this is a grim and sorrowful tale- but I think it is how Tolkien saw things too. Maedhros is the most tragic of all his characters I think and then slow grinding of his spirit the worse thing Tolkien inflivts upon him. Fingon's death seems to finish him and only the Oath keeps him alove. 

This reminds me of the scene in AMC where he sees the squirrel and is distratced by its distress - I like the analogy of the trees  -the oaks taking u more than their share of the sky, like their father, and the willows that bow with supple grace.

I really like your  Taryindë and her seeming clumsy mannishness- perfect for Carnistir who is also strange and doesn't quite fit in. 

LOve this idea of the Silmaril as a heart.

Great sense of the storm in this- the sea, senses, feeling overwhlemed and in terrible danger. I think back to him as he was in ANC- I have never bothered to find out anything about him before but just looked him up -power of your writing, Dawn.

And this moment is perfect- like a painting that catched perfectly the snes of the cold, the ice, the biting wind- and the love between them. 

I blew warmth into your hand with my breath.
The fingers softened. A little.

Perfect and beautiful.

There is a terrible bitterness and fury and grief in this one line:Curufinwë—hands ash-grimed from trying to gather their father into a box.

And of course the irony, although I am sure he knew this only too well when he choose to go and sortie with Morgoth, that maitimo went too - his choice, his price, his loss. He was willing to pay.

Edit: my computer had a fart, so the right comment is the second one I just posted.

Martyr is hands down my favourite. It'd make a beautiful poem.