Nova Peak pen-channas

"mal ni mére- lala exa," felaróf fretted in a manner more masculine than he had meant — or cared to consider. she was the long-limbed avalê, and the silken feather of her mouth upon his flesh had fired the horselord into a nature that welcomed her challenge.

putting aside the argument forming for his great tributes in the direction of her valar-made fetlocks, the stallion coursed after the mare in a giddy confoundment of enrapturement and desire. perhaps first king of the mearas might have put up a finer dance for his intended, but felaróf found himself compelled by the aching strain of her supple flanks and the globose beauty of her more archly parts, tail a banner of satin that caught his muzzle.

he pursued the elentári through her chosen court, enthralled now by the taste of loam in the air, the little tufts of softgrass kicked up by their hoofbeats. in moments the horselord had come to her side, and now in his throat the trumpet of the great arched halls in their silverwork, a ringing-out of adulation. gone were all thoughts of the wolves; felaróf curved his gait to breathe close, skimming his own lips against the round base of one blessed ear. "valda."

what manner of evil had suggested to her that she was not worthy of his obeisances? she was here, same as he; the land lay unbroken and green and wild before them. why then would the valar bring them to such a place if not in sanctity as one? he was king, and kings made courtship before their chosen heart. 

he would run with she who breathed the words of the old places, the sprawling forest enveloping their bodies and dappling the pair with splotches of brave sunlight. legs folded smoothly; the stallion sailed over an old son of the onodrim slumbering upon the ground and cantered less distantly again with a laugh. "ni sam-rembina tye hol."