With so few skills which were applicable outside the halls of Imladris, Nínim rarely left Rivendell – but the Bruinen was only on the doorstep of the last homely house, and she adored the river. A teleri of the Havens, the elf had always loved water – but the sea had long ago become her enemy. The rivers, however? They had their own song. The song of Össe, rather than that of Ulmo: a song that had done its best to keep the Teleri in Middle Earth since before the first age. The wild, dancing light of the tumbling water was an escape from the constant thundering waves in her head, and the elf could often be found besides the river, pale feet slashing in the water. On the rare occasions when she wasn't finding ways to be busy in the Healing Halls or the archives, that was.

Today's outing was the product of an enforced break by Hir Elrond, who had all but pushed her out of the door of the Healing Halls. No doubt the older elf had hoped she would sleep, but stubborn little Nínim had no intention of falling prey to the sea in her sleep any time soon. Rather, she had snuck out the stock lists from the Healing Wing, and had taken the papers and a small bag of cakes (a guilty pleasure) down to the Bruinen. For such a spectacularly accident-magnetic elf, it was almost a miracle that she could sit, legs in the wild water, without being swept away... but when Nínim was relaxed, rare as it was, all that clumsiness seemed to fall away.

Wind in her hair and sun on her face, the elf was enjoying her time away from the halls – almost completely at ease for the first time in quite a while. The stock lists for the Healing Halls were rested in her lap, and Nínim was genuinely enjoying her relaxed evaluations as she munched down a small lemon cake: one of few creatures in Middle Earth who took real joy in paper work. There was very little that felt better than a job well done in the sun, with the spray of the river on your face.

So relaxed was Nínim that she began to sing. It was almost instinct to the elves, to sing their feelings – but Aearnínim rarely sang, at least where there was the chance of being overheard. Of the elves she had met, her's was the weakest voice. Soft and light it may be, but it was quiet, and broke easily over high or low notes. Another weakness to be ashamed of.

Still, beside the Bruinen, she opened her mouth and sang, a smile on her face in the sun.