Saeril sat near the fire, and stared at its hearth. The memories were enough to flash back at her; memories of two young dwarves she grew fond of from within the shadows, while covering the disturbance of an appearance that every race grew to despise. It was fear, not anxiety that drove her away. How could anyone love someone that had the appearance of true evil? Not them, she concluded to herself. No, that couldn't be it, could it? What if they weren't afraid? What if they already accepted her presence? What if...they already knew what she looked like? Have they heard the stories? What if they saw her commit such evil? Were they already despising her? Did they even care? These repeated questions and constant thoughts inside her head haunted her. For days and nights, almost to the point where she can't sleep, it was a parental paranoia within her that truly scared her. It was a repetitive wheel within the fire before her...and the last thing she didn't expect to hear, was the voice of said-child. Slowly widening her yellow-green eyes, Saeril cautiously turned her head to the source, which almost made her jump out of her Elven skin. Was it true? Did Gandalf stay true to his word? Getting courage, she kept her ground. "Huh? Oh, I'm alright", she answered him, gently, and almost motherly. She didn't look away from the fire, but his words did drag her from her previous staring into the flames.