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Pink lines raised against pale flesh. They spoke of jagged rocks that had pierced little girls' feet through summer grass, live steel that found shoulder's skin when she and Eomer had first learned war's fell craft. And even through her heavy gown, Faramir fancied he could see them.
He had traced them all, with gaze and fingers. Even here, with all of Ithilien's eyes on them as elves and men awaited the beginning of the mid-winter feast, Faramir's fingers ventured past Eowyn's cuff and found the scar just beyond her wrist.
'Twas a promise of "later", and another bountiful year.