Chapter Text
“Welcome, my dear friend,” called Elrond, gesturing expansively. “Come and join us for lunch.”
Lasseth, standing in the doorway of Elrond's favourite tea room in all of Rivendell, accepted that invitation. She swept past the luncheon table, heavily-laden with crystalware that glittered in the afternoon sun. There was a chair ready and waiting, but she paused before taking her seat as Elrond graciously introduced her to the esteemed elves around the table.
“Lasseth, you have met the lords Erestor and Glorfindel... and of course our elder healer Beldir. I am delighted to acquaint you with Annúnor, who comes to us from Lindon. He is a Lúth-lindë of great renown there.”
Annúnor gestured a friendly greeting and then went back to attacking his plate, which was overflowing with rare and expensive dainties. The kitchens of Rivendell were renowned for their exquisite offerings and it seemed he was keen to sample them all.
“Lasseth is a healer from Ithilien,” said Elrond, introducing her in turn to Annúnor, with all the courtly airs as was appropriate and a wide smile besides, for he was very fond. “My dear friend, whom we are honored to host these next few days.”
“What brings you this way?” asked Beldir, with some anticipation.
Lasseth paused again. Her hand rested on the back of the chair as she cocked a brow. “Are you actually asking why, or is it more that you want to know the outcome?”
“Both,” assured Beldir, leaning forward in the manner of someone preparing to hear the outcome of a bet upon which a decent sum of coin rested. “Though I know you were investigating rumors of a natural birth within one of the outlying villages of Mirkwood.”
Lasseth’s fingers clenched as she prepared to answer. “There was a birth in the village. It was the first in ages; that much is true.”
Around the table, the Wise among elves straightened in their chairs, shocked to their cores. They exchanged glances and leaned forward as a thousand questions burst into life behind their eyes. Beldir looked especially taken aback. He pressed a hand onto the table to steady himself. He seemed caught between hope and dismay; hope that her words were true and dismay that he was soon to be parted with a sizable sum.
“But,” continued Lasseth slowly, preparing to impart bad news as the elves around the table immediately slumped at her dismissive tone. “It seems Morgoth’s curse is not broken. For when I attempted to investigate and officiate their claims, the village became hostile. It turns out the mother was of Moriondor blood. Though she insisted she was a natural born elleth, she would not allow me to examine her, or the child.”
“Ah, how damning,” said Beldir, leaning back into his chair, more disappointed than relieved. “That quite settles the matter, doesn’t it?”
“Your unofficial diagnosis would then be...?” asked Annúnor, his expression rather confused. There was a hush at his question, because the rest of the elves around the table didn’t need anything spelled out for them.
“There was no natural birth and the Moriondor remain the unnatural gatekeepers of elven life, as Morgoth intended them to be,” said Lasseth, sounding frustrated. Rather harshly did she paint him a picture. “We remain collectively barren amongst ourselves until the gods see fit to collect Morgoth from the void and force him to remove his curse.”
“So nothing changes,” sighed Annúnor.
Lasseth gestured affirmative. Then she slipped into her lovingly-carved chair, abandoning her bad mood. The sun was still shining brightly and butterflies were flirting with their reflections in the windows. The day was far too pleasant and company far too delightful to dwell on old wounds. And so her smile was reborn as she settled directly across from the lords Erestor and Glorfindel, who otherwise seemed rather distracted. Taking note of this, she smiled brightly at Elrond.
“As charming an introduction as always, but it seems you have missed someone,” and Lasseth glanced at a forlorn figure nestled in Glorfindel’s lap, who was the source of said distraction.
“I could be counted remiss,” agreed Elrond merrily whilst pouring her a cup of hot tea, “Except that we have yet to learn this one’s name. He has only recently come into our keeping. As of this very morning, in fact.”
“Is that him, then?” asked Lasseth, her eyes widening with delight. She took up her cup, but set it aside just as quickly. “I heard there was an incident. Alas, I missed all the excitement this morning.”
Elrond settled back into his chair, his pleasure with the situation rife within his relaxed gestures. “This is indeed our new Moriondor; the first we’ve had since we sent Meludir across the sea. Now we hope to add to our population here, all courtesy of our smooth-talking Erestor. I am advised it was he who wrest him quite handily from the Avari.”
Erestor took that compliment with his usual grace. “Thank you for the confidence, but it was no feat. They are tribesmen from Dorwinion and were preparing to abandon him on the far shores of the lake. It didn’t take much convincing to allow us to purchase him when the coin purse came out — merely bartering over a fair price.”
“Surprising,” and Lasseth took that in with a quirked brow. “The Avari are loathe to part with any Moriondor, seeing as so few of them come into their hands. Their numbers grow even slower than ours. I would know; we always make the attempt whenever we encounter them. I fear I must take Elrond’s side and name you extraordinary.”
Erestor smiled wryly. “You can meet them and form your own opinion.”
“They came back with us after hearing of the wonders of Rivendell,” explained Glorfindel, who had eyes only for the seemingly-depressed little body pressed snuggly against his front. “I rather wish they hadn’t — I cannot convince him to settle down.” The last words he merely murmured, more to Erestor than the rest of the table.
Erestor cocked his head, glancing out the window towards the central pavilion where the small party of Avari were being entertained. “He did not enjoy their attentions, that much was obvious.” There was a slight downturn in his tone, hinting at his displeasure with their presence.
“We are happy to host any kindred of elves here,” reminded Elrond. That put an end to any speculation or otherwise less-than-kind words. I have a reputation to maintain, he reminded them without words.
At the same time, Annúnor paused in his onslaught on the fresh cheese and crackers. “Is it normal to speak of him like this, when he is sitting right there and can hear you?”
“He does not speak Quenya,” answered Erestor with a little less patience than before. “None of them do. They insist on using their own language, which they refuse to teach their handlers.”
Annúnor made an agreeable noise. He reached for another curd of fresh cheese to spread on his cracker while watching Glorfindel murmur comforting things against the captive’s ear, watching as the golden warrior met with some success, or at least the captive allowed himself to be cuddled closer.
“Didn't the Avari give you his name?” asked Lasseth, leaning closer to see the little fellow better.
Glorfindel made a soft noise of negation.
“Not as of yet,” said Elrond, with a slight frown. “I confess I failed to ask Múldaer, their leader, when they first arrived this morning. There was too much excitement to dwell on niceties.”
“Hmm,” said Lasseth, and then she abruptly stood and walked to the window facing the pavilion, which was a vision of blue and gold flowers overlooking the river. Within its lovely confines the Avari party were being entertained.
“My friends,” called Lasseth at the top of her lungs. “What is this little Moriondor called?”
The Avari, nonplussed to be shouted at by a complete stranger through an open window, shouted back a number of things. Few of them were complimentary. That was something of a surprise and Lasseth yelled back a clarification. “I mean, what is his name?”
The answer finally came amid a few more disparaging words. Lasseth bowed and gestured complimentary things back, to the pleasure of the rather rowdy elves outside. Then she retook her seat amid her genteel company, welcomed back by a bevy of shocked expressions, except for Elrond, who was laughing into his tea.
“His name is Lindir,” announced Lasseth as if the rest of the elves hadn’t heard. “Little songbird,” and she further translated the Avari word amid a frown. “They think he is barren, then?”
“He hasn’t kindled since they captured him,” confirmed Erestor. “At least, so they say.”
Lasseth’s frown deepened. “They believe so, or they’d never have parted with him. Either to abandon him or sell him to you.”
Erestor hummed agreement.
“Lindir,” mouthed Glorfindel down to his shivering armful of elf. Another warm smile followed when Lindir responded to his name by hiding his face. Taking up a honey-glazed biscuit, Glorfindel tried to coax Lindir to accept a bite, without success.
“He was expecting freedom until this very morning,” said Lasseth thoughtfully. She hesitated then, taking in the huddled form with new eyes. “Have they hurt him?”
“He has bruises and contusions consistent with rough handling,” said Glorfindel with authority, pausing to press gentle kisses against Lindir’s listless brow. “That was ended the instant he came into our hands.”
Erestor cast an accusing glance out the window, than nodded curtly. “We bathed him as soon as he arrived and he’s had a full examination, which he is still recovering from. He does not enjoy any manner of handling.”
“That will change,” promised Glorfindel, amid plenty of handling.
This was directed more to the shivering Lindir in Glorfindel’s arms then his companions around the table. His promise was joined by the heel of his free hand rubbing down Lindir’s back, massaging him with exquisite strokes. He watched Lindir’s reactions with keen eyes while exploring what the little fellow enjoyed, even if only on a purely physical level. A smile bloomed upon his lips when a soft sigh reached his ears. It seemed back rubs were somewhere high on that list.
“You’ve already made progress with him,” said Lasseth, duly impressed. “It normally takes weeks before they learn to trust their handlers.”
“Your praise is too high and too soon,” warned Glorfindel, sounding distracted. “Trust exercises have not yet begun.”
“You know I have a number of Moriondor in my care,” reminded Lasseth to Elrond, inclining her head towards Lindir, too curious to let the matter rest. “Do you mind if I take a look at him?”
“Could I stop you?” asked Elrond, a fond smile on his face.
Lasseth grinned triumphantly and then hurried around the table, even as Erestor issued complaint. He reminded that Lindir had already been examined, thoroughly so by the healers of Rivendell.
“I have more experience with Moriondor,” said Lasseth in a smooth reply that none of the healers around the table could argue with. “I have been assisting in the kindling and birthing of our children from their accursed bodies since they dared come down from their mountains and within our reach.”
Elrond cleared his throat.
“Lovely little things, regardless,” agreed Lasseth, walking back her harsh words. Her anger was directed at Morgoth and the ruin left in his wake, not the little elves who endured captivity as a result of his evil. Never had she directed that harshness towards the Moriondor in her care.
Elrond well knew this and was quick to forgive. It was good that her agreement with Elrond’s mild correction was genuine; otherwise Glorfindel would’ve kept her from touching Lindir. It was a close thing even so, for he’d already thrown out a leg in a low-key warning, necessitating that she sooth him with sweet words until he was confident enough in her good intentions. He carried such authority as a guardian and suffered no qualms to use it, such that Lindir would never suffer violence upon his body so long as he remained within Glorfindel’s care.
“Such a wonderful protector,” murmured Lasseth respectfully to Glorfindel, who was indeed an accomplished guardian of Moriondor captives. “My offer still stands,” she added, ever keen on acquiring him for herself. “You could have your choice of them.”
“Stop poaching my elves,” said Elrond in playful warning.
Lasseth cast her dear friend Elrond a mournful expression as Glorfindel politely refused her. It was true that she’d been trying to steal him, even recently, as she had a number of high-strung Moriondor who would benefit from his firm-but-gentle manner, but to no avail.
Lord Elrond ran a tight ship and his elves were desperately loyal to him. Several times, even recently, he had tried to poach her. It wasn’t out of the question to move from Ithilien to Rivendell. It wasn’t unseemly to accept him as lord, except that her calling was the kindling and birthing of children. That meant keeping Moriondor, of which she had access to a steady number back in Ithilien.
“You really need to stop sending yours to Aman,” said Lasseth, reproachfully. “No one returns from the Undying Lands to help us repopulate. However will you keep up with your need for more citizens?”
“They weaken with each child we create,” said Elrond, matter-of-factly. “After a number of children it is necessary to send them across the sea to keep them productive and healthy. We have land there and they are allowed to live freely as they like, so long as we are allowed access.”
Lasseth couldn’t argue that. She distracted herself by examining Lindir instead. She waited patiently as Glorfindel parted Lindir’s ceremonial robe, baring the whole of his skin, including a pert little bottom. He barely reacted, suggesting he was well-accustomed to such bareness while captive to high elves.
Lasseth spoke then, keeping a running commentary as her fingers explored his flesh. “Too thin, some healing bruises around his limbs consistent with attempts at self-defense,” and she ducked around to check his mouth and eyes, murmuring, “healthy enough otherwise, but frightened and listless,” and when he burrowed his head into Glorfindel’s neck to escape her fingers she added, “definitely mistreated, and badly so.”
“That was my assessment as well,” said Lord Elrond, frowning. He picked at his plate, which a timid servant had refilled for him. “It seems the tribesmen became aggressive when he wouldn’t kindle for them. I am hoping his inability is due to prolonged stress from mistreatment, which can be reversed in time.”
“If you let me take him to Ithilien on loan, I could—” began Lasseth, always keen to add to her collection.
“—I have faith in my team here,” interrupted Elrond, refusing to entertain her offer outright.
Lasseth hummed and abandoned her efforts that way. She watched Lindir breathe for a moment, her interest piqued. “There is a slight discoloration of his lips,” and then she pressed an ear against his bare back to listen to his breathing.
Glorfindel watched the proceedings and continued his long, gentle strokes down Lindir’s lower back. His other hand rested snug over Lindir’s hips, tightening occasionally to remind Lindir who was in control, which wasn’t the elleth examining him. It was less comforting then it should be, because there was no bond of trust between them yet.
“Patience,” said Erestor softly, intended for Glorfindel’s ears only. “He will learn to accept, and later, demand comfort from you soon enough.”
“You are assigned to him as well?” asked Lasseth curiously, for she was far less acquainted with Erestor then Glorfindel. When he confirmed that he was responsible for their new Moriondor’s mental wellbeing, she mentally added him to the list of elves she’d dearly like to poach from Lord Elrond.
“Shallow breaths and general discomfort,” announced Lasseth after another moment’s consideration. She stepped back thoughtfully. “I normally only see this when they’re having difficulty with baby descending — such that their lungs become compressed.”
“There is no child,” said Beldir, with authority. “I spent over an hour listening. There was no second heartbeat.”
Lasseth watched Lindir with thinning lips. A thought occurred and she pulled out a weathered notebook and began thumbing through the pages, her practiced eyes searching for a particular name amid the disorderly scribbles.
“Is that your logbook?” asked Erestor.
“It is,” said Lasseth with a playful smile. “I keep all of my records in official capacity of course, but these are my personal notes.”
“I have something similar,” said Erestor, pulling a pristine-looking book from one of the pockets in his robe. “I have been keeping records on all of the Moriondor that we know of, including yours and the ones kept by Lindon and Mirkwood. I would dearly love to compare notes.”
Meanwhile, Lasseth found the entry she was looking for. “I have heard of this one before,” and she gestured at Lindir, who was now leaning into Glorfindel’s stokes, seeming to be enjoying himself, perhaps without realizing. “He is considered something of an escape artist, according to a number of sources.”
“I don’t have his name listed anywhere,” said Erestor, sounding disappointed.
“Are you sure?” and Lasseth began rattling off a list of alternate names associated with Lindir, until one of them did match.
Erestor made a triumphant noise. Then he jotted down the alternate names, each swirl of his pen a love-letter to perfect penmanship. “Difficult to deal with,” he read aloud from his notes. “Fleet as a deer on open ground with a good instinct for misdirection — best to keep chained down at all times.”
“No chains,” announced Elrond with the force of a command.
“It was not my recommendation,” explained Erestor patiently. “I merely recorded the experiences of others in regards to him, most of whom he eventually escaped from, I might add. Nothing written here can be considered directly from me — you know how I feel about such things.”
“I am the method of binding,” said Glorfindel, mildly.
Lasseth considered the matter, and then hummed again. “Master of misdirection...” and she returned to Lindir. “I know that Moriondor are rather variant in how they carry their children, considering the difficulties they face from Morgoth’s... alterations. Some of them carry high. They can even control how soon baby drops down and becomes more noticeable.”
“Some never show,” agreed Beldir from across the table.
“How is that possible?” asked Annúnor.
Elrond refilled his teacup as he answered. “Moriondor are incapable of bringing an infant to full term — there’s not enough space internally.”
“All children born of them are considered desperately pre-mature,” added Beldir in a distracted tone, who was penning a small note, presumably regarding that stupendous sum of coin that was now owed to him. “Presumably so they can pass them the only place they can be passed. I suppose it’s not surprising some aspects are uncomfortable for them, considering who is responsible for their being able to create life as elleth do in the first place.”
“It sounds unpleasant,” laughed Annúnor, ruefully so. “However do you convince them to create children for us so easily?”
There came another moment of silence. It was yet another question that needn’t be answered in learned company. The quiet went on so long as to become an answer unto itself, which Annúnor finally took note of. Yet he still seemed to find that surprising, as if he’d never encountered the myriad issues surrounding the capture, carnal use, and maintenance of this sub-breed of elvenkind.
“You — hold them down, then?” asked Annúnor, in a strange tone of voice. It seemed he’d never taken the thought to its full conclusion.
“It’s a gentle process,” and Glorfindel defended the indefensible in a firm tone and would not say more.
Lasseth, meanwhile, was stuck on the whole master of misdirection entry in her notes and that left her wondering. “They can match their heartbeats to their child, and delay birthing for weeks, if need be. They can choose the time of their birthing. What if he was trying to convince them he was useless? What if he was trying to get them to abandon him, intentionally so? What if this was just another escape attempt for him?”
Glorfindel perked up at the notion and squeezed the little elf tighter against him, perhaps excited to have found such a challenge. It was then that he noted the way Lindir was staring off into the distance as if ignoring the goings-on, which he had little chance of understanding. Following his gaze, the golden warrior wasn’t surprised to see a mountain in the distance was holding his attention and carefully noted which one for any future escape attempts. His smile only deepened.
Beldir cocked his head, considering the possibilities.
Elrond made a sudden, interested noise.
“How do you mean?” asked Annúnor, mid-chew upon a tea biscuit.
Lasseth returned to her place at Lindir’s back, quietly so. Gesturing a request for understanding, she first received permission from Glorfindel to proceed. Then, leaning close, she abruptly clapped her hands. The sound was sharp and penetrating. Lindir didn’t startle, but startling him wasn’t what she was intending. Quickly, before Lindir could realize what she was up to and adjust, she tucked in close and pressed her ear against his back.
“Too high,” announced Beldir.
“Not so,” Lasseth disagreed and then burst into a smile as her suspicions proved correct. “I hear another heartbeat,” and she began counting out the space between beats. Then she laughed when Lindir abruptly matched their beats, hiding the second one behind his own.
“You clever little thing,” and Lasseth shared a triumphant smile with Elrond, who was now standing next to her, astounded. The lord of Rivendell well understood what the sudden cession of counting meant and what this would mean for his realm.
Taking Lasseth’s hand, Elrond pulled her aside and then took her place. In that gentle moment and in his own gentle way he laid claim to Lindir’s care. He pressed an ear and listened to Lindir’s breathing himself. “I hear no second heartbeat now,” he murmured, then added, “and here I was thinking his shallow breathing was stress-related, due to being in a new place with strangers.”
“He may need assistance dropping the baby into a better position, if only that he might breathe easier,” and Lasseth reached for Lindir. “If I may...”
Elrond waved her back, having taken control of the situation. “That’s not necessary,” and then he gestured for Glorfindel to reposition himself, which he did. Elrond, taking a wide stance behind, slipped his arms around Lindir’s body and lifted him, to the little elf’s clear surprise.
“Up, and down,” and Elrond moved Lindir sharply, again and again, expertly applying pressure. Lindir gasped, shuddered, and gasped again. Then suddenly it was easier to breathe and as Elrond lowered him back into Glorfindel’s keeping, that was exactly what he did, in full and noisy gasps.
Lindir did not misunderstand the significance of that adjustment, which his new captors would only have done if they knew. He started shivering as he looked from face to face, ending with a fearful peek up into Glorfindel’s face, smiling down at him from a position of great power.
“What does this all mean?” asked Annúnor, sounding confused.
Lasseth supressed a sigh and broke out her paint set once more. “Not only has Lindir kindled, but Rivendell will be expecting a birthing very soon.”
“Ah, delightful,” and Annúnor returned his attentions to the lovely luncheon table, keen to put such things as forced birthing out of his mind.
Outside, the Avari were enjoying some rousing music from their hosts, completely oblivious as to what they had given up. Their mistake would not come to their ears anytime soon, and never would Rivendell give up their new Moriondor.
“Your attempt to better your life has worked,” assured Glorfindel, his lips pressed against Lindir’s nervous ear. “You will enjoy your life here, with us. I will make sure of it.”
Erestor looked amused. “Fleet as a deer,” he repeated and then glanced at his partner. “It’s good that you are known for running down deer. Your speed and tracking skills will likely be put to the test soon enough.”
“I have never lost one,” and Glorfindel was beaming now, simply thrilled with how things were turning out. He would be part of the birthing process from beginning to end, and then beginning again. It was a sheer joy to be a key-holder for the gate of life, which was how they coached such things.
At the same time, Elrond placed his hand where Lasseth had marked the unborn and closed his eyes, murmuring to himself. His ring glittered prettily, though it was no use for things like this. He counted the spaces between breath and heartbeat instead, and then slipped his fingers down lower.
“Hold him,” said Elrond to Glorfindel, who obliged by tucking a hand beneath Lindir and lifting up and out a thigh so that Elrond would have an easier time breaching the little fellow down below. The murmurs and counting continued.
Again, Lindir barely reacted.
“Soon?” asked Lasseth, already considering extending her stay for the occasion.
Elrond smiled back and removed his hand. “Very soon,” and then he hesitated when Lindir finally reacted by closing his eyes and changing his breathing. Lindir was clearly concentrating on himself and there were no prizes awarded for guessing what he was up to.
“What is he doing?” asked Annúnor, who had craned his neck as if expecting to see an infant appear by magic.
“Delaying the inevitable,” said Elrond with a calm expression. “Understandable and rather prudent of him, considering how precarious his situation must feel.” Moving away, he washed his fingers in a basin of water and then returned to his seat without further comment. The only hint of his deep disappointment was the way he downed his now-cold tea and tossed the cup back onto its ornate tray.
“Still disappointing,” said Lasseth, even while mentally cancelling her plans to extend her visit. She reached out and took up a pot of honey and some heavy cream and began to mix them. “They can delay for weeks if they feel the need.”
Elrond was well-aware. “Unnecessary,” he said to Lindir, pronouncing the word slowly as if to convince him, even though he knew Lindir didn’t understand and certainly wouldn’t have heeded, even if he did.
Trust was earned, not given away.
“I am pleased, even if no one else is. This gives us time to build some trust before the birthing,” said Glorfindel to Erestor, who nodded in full agreement. They tried again to coax a few bites of food into him, though he merely turned his face away.
“Calithiliel,” called Lasseth, her smile growing wider when she noticed how surprised that servant was to be called by name. That was one of the things she prided herself on, knowing people. “See if you can force a few mouthfuls of this to whet his appetite,” and she handed her honey-concoction over.
“Careful,” warned Lasseth, pleasantly so. “They can become ill-mannered if mistreated. Watch that he doesn’t spit on you.”
Glorfindel sighed, because he’d been content to let Lindir refuse so that he might honor these littlest of wishes, thinking to return the smallest semblance of agency to the little fellow, but let Calithiliel approach when Elrond gestured at him to comply. It was a good test of nature, he had to admit. Everyone around the table who was not named Annúnor was rather surprised when Lindir accepted a few insistent mouthfuls without a fuss.
“Such a sweet little thing,” said Lasseth, feeling suddenly antsy. “I wish you would reconsider letting me take him. Seeing other Moriondor displaying trust in their handlers would help settle him.”
“Leave the settling to me,” said Glorfindel, answering for Elrond, who had chosen to ignore the whinging. He smiled around his armful of Lindir as Calithiliel refilled her teacup and bowed, and then watched as Calithiliel did the same for Elrond, who remained the very picture of calm serenity even amid such keen disappointment.
“Should he be eating if he is so close to birthing?” asked Annúnor, still a few steps behind everyone else.
Lasseth sighed and pinched her nose. This time she refused to pull out her paint set and merely returned to her lunch instead.
Beldir blinked and then his sharp smile abruptly reappeared.
Elrond took up his teacup and blew upon it, then spoke what should have been obvious. “It looks like we may have to wait a few weeks, perhaps even a month before any blessings are bestowed upon us. In that time, it would be best if our little songbird does partake of meals.”
“Ah, yes, obviously,” said Annúnor, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Congratulations on your upcoming blessing, regardless.” It was a recipe for instant forgiveness, this mentioning of soon-to-be newborns.
Lasseth smiled brightly at Annúnor and echoed the sentiment. She raised her glass in a toast, which the others swiftly joined.
Glorfindel sighed happily and Erestor dared to prepare Lindir a plate of food that he wasn’t likely to touch.
Elrond looked upon the elves around him, his eyes alighting upon a shy Lindir, who dared show a hint of interest in the plate of food on offer, and his smile brightened the room.
-o-o-o-
Lindir, who did not speak their language but could tell they had uncovered his secret, was less enthused. Circumstances forced him to accept the affections of the huge elf that insisted upon holding him, which grew more intimate by the moment. He knew where that was heading. He was certain of what he could expect to happen come nightfall, but there was little he could do for himself. Come what may, he had to keep his mind focused on escape.
At least these elves seemed calmer... perhaps the coming night might be kinder, for gentler hands were easier to endure. And when his surroundings continued to remain pleasant, he dared to accept more food, because his belly was painfully empty. The honey had lit a fire within him, which would make things more difficult. Anything that made him need them would make things more difficult. But otherwise, he kept to himself as was his wont, until another opportunity to escape might present itself.
The mountain in the distance called to him, where he might find the rest of his kin.
Surely freedom was just a matter of time.