My very first drabble.
“Four…three…two…one…Ready or not, here I come!”
The child was breathless, searching every nook with eager eyes. He dashed hither and yon, skirting tables – peering under benches, leaving no stone unturned. Giggling he rounded the great chair, not once but twice.
As frustration turned childish glee to pouting tears, he spied it. A careless toe beneath the dragon tapestry. His quarry found at last.
“Found you!” he cried, pulling the drape aside.
Caught up in a father’s arms, he squealed in joy and planted kisses upon a well-loved face.
And Denethor smiled down upon his youngest son and said: “Well played Faramir.”