Chapter Text

Beleg looked at her, and he found her fair—a tender kind of beauty with no glory, hard to grasp, easy to shatter. "A maiden made of glass, woven of leaves," he thought, recalling the words of the huntsman, and suddenly he felt abashed, though there was no cause. If he was shy, she was shyer still. She seemed at a loss of words, not knowing where to look, what to do with her empty hands.
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Beleg seeks Nellas to help Túrin.

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