"Gi melin," he says again, stretching the syllables where her Orlesian dragged so that she might better adjusting her pronunciation. The elk stops when they reach the appointed place and Thranduil lifts her off, catching her in his arms and not letting go, sweeping her into a hold and letting her down only once they've reached a bower. From the mysterious bags, he pulls a blanket- a quilt, actually, one with squares done of medicinal plants, and this he lays over the moss before beckoning her over.

"Hello," he says, and, in trade, "- bare yourself."

It is, perhaps, not the most creative of linguistic exercises, but she seems willing enough to play along, and he cannot pretend that her using Sindarin does not please him.