The Yule Log RPG

[Bêthberry]

The Yule Log (http://home.earthlink.net/~wodensharrow/yule.html)

The longest night was upon them, the winter solstice, when a fleeting few hours of sunlight waned and darkness waxed upon the land. Blinding winds and bitter snow harrowed the land outside The Green Man Free House. Yet some must venture out, for on this night must be found a beacon of light as a reminder that dark was not eternal. The Yule Log must be found, stripped of branches, decorated with holly and mistletoe and evergreen, and brought indoors to burn twelve nights, burn continuously, to mark good favour and fortune for the coming year.

On this night, man and wight, dwarf and elf, troll and bear and boar and other denizens of the sleeping forests—yea even a hobbit or three--were bound by the ancient lore. There would be feasting aplenty, and wassail and ale, and tales that chilled the soul in competition with the winter’s cold. For each night, once the Yule Log was lit, some would stand watch over it, never letting the flickering flames abate the long night long, for twelve nights. And to comfort their cold watch, they were bound to tell tales, tales of ghosts and wights and any manner of fell beast, to cheer their spirits and keep the spirits that haunted the cold outside the doors.

So this, then, is the solstice story of the Barrow Downs for this year which marks the half decade of the new millennium of the Seventh Age. Come one, come all Downers, RPGers or not, take warmth from the Yule Log, and share your tales of ghosts and goblins. Weave a new character or wrap an old one round ye for warmth and tarry here these twelve nights. Your Innkeeper be known by the name of Carr Dagnysson.

It is early in the third age, in the Iron Hills beyond Erebor and Dale and north of Mirkwood. The Hobbits have not yet begun their Wandering Days.

Merry Yule to you all, Downers. Bêthberry

[Arry]

‘Greenman . . . up ahead, I’m thinking.’ In the darkness beneath the weak stars and hidden moon, the outlines of three small figures appeared and disappeared in the swirling snow. ‘Leastwise, here’s the blaze Madoc put here last summer,’ said Andwise, brushing the flakes from the axe cut in the tall fir’s trunk. ‘Got the three smaller gouges there just above it.’

Willem urged the pony from beneath the sheltering boughs with several insistent tugs on the lead line. His brothers followed along, their cloaks pulled tight about them, as they trudged up the low rise overlooking The Greenman Free House. The lantern lit beneath the overhanging roof winked invitingly at the Hobbits the nearer they drew to it . . .

-o-o-o-

‘Was hail, you Harfoots!’ said Andwise, lifting his cup to his brothers. ‘Drink hail!’ they returned, raising their own. ‘And no goblins be near to mar our enjoyment of it,’ Andwise murmured as the rims of their mugs clinked. Willem and Madoc drank deep, enjoying the spiced concoction as it slid easily down their throats and warmed their bellies. Andwise picked out the piece of toasted bread that floated on the surface of his drink and chewed it slowly.

‘Master Dagnysson!’ called out Willem, his now empty mug waving in the air. ‘Another if you please. And one for my brother, Madoc.’

‘None for the slowpoke, there,’ Madoc added, grinning at Andwise. ‘Though if you’ll bring me his, I’ll sing you a song we have about this marvelous brew.’

‘Ah, you’ll sing it anyway, you know that,’ laughed Andwise. ‘I can see the drink has already loosed your tongue. Go on, then.’

Madoc took the cup from Andwise’s hands and took a quick swallow. He cleared his throat, humming the tune at first. At the urging of his brothers he sang the words, his clear tenor, weaving merrily about them:

The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts downe all drinke when it is stale,

The toast, the nut-meg, and the ginger,
Will make a sighing man a singer,
Ale gives a buffet in the head,
"But ginger under proppes the brayne;
When ale would strike a strong man dead,
Then nut-megge temperes it againe,

The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts downe all drinke when it is stale . . .

A gust of wind whipped down from the north and battered against the shutters as the last notes rang out. The Hobbits shivered, recalling stories of shadowed creatures that lived beyond the Grey Mountains and the Withered Heath. They drew their chairs nearer the warmth of the fireplace and the light from the burning log.

[Bêthberry]

A rustling and thump of branch echoed in the dark, accompanied by creak and groan of wood against wood as the winter wind whipped around the Green Man Inn, knocking oak and yew branches over the top of the wooden barricade that surrounded the small village. With imagination fired by the wassail you could almost imagine the wood singing along with Madoc's song, providing a ghostly echo to his merry words. Carr Dagnysson, his gimpy leg aching from the cold, stopped his hauling of the barrel into the kitchen long enough to listen to the song. They were strange creatures, these haflings, nearly half the size of the men in the village, but their cheery spirits could be counted on to give heart to others.

~ ~ ~

Outside, a dark shape that gleamed luminous under the moon shifted and lumbered towards the wooden stakes that provided harbour to the village. A large nose poked at the barricade, testing for weakened planks and then it caught scent of something. It stopped, motionless for a time. Then it sniffed at the air, scenting fir pitch burning and let loose a low wonking moan that seemed to be echoed from the forest beyond the village. The shape backed away from the barricade, but then, drawn by the hunger in its belly, it moved forward again, skulking around to find a north side of the wind which didn't carry the scent of the burning log.

And the wind battered the sign of the Inn, so that it swung in a sort of drumming accompaniment to the halfling's song. http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y64/MimsyBorogroves/GreenManInnsign.jpg

[Envinyatar]

The sounds of the wind as it battered about the public house brought news to the two tall figures that trudged down the snow skewed path toward the door. Their walking staffs, dark and heavy from woods far from this northern land crunched against the icy underlayings of the most recent snowfall.

‘And tell me again, my dear Mori, why we’ve come to this grace forsaken place?’ The question hung for a moment in the icy air as the wind stilled itself for a moment. ‘Stamo pulled his heavy fur cloak closer about him only half expecting an answer to his idle complaint.

‘Hush, ‘Stamo. Can you not hear it yourself. There are old things moving in the darkness. Some for good and some for ill . . . and some,’ he said, closing his eyes as his ears took in the night, ‘. . . some neither, but only for themselves.’

‘Stamo shifted on his cold feet, trying to bring some feeling back to the rising numbness of his lower extremities. ‘All I can hear at the moment is the creaking of that old wooden sign. Though now that you speak, I note it’s stopped.’ The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he too caught a whiff of something other than the smoke from the pub’s chimney. ‘Best we move ourselves within, I think,’ he said low, nudging his companion in the back with the gnarled knob end of his staff. ‘That is, I don’t relish the thought of a stand off with those “some for ill” creatures you spoke of.’

The heavy oaken door swung open easily at Mori’s touch, and he led them into the entryway. It was warm within, the fire inviting as it crackled merrily in the grate. Stamping the snow from their boots on the thick rushy mats and shaking the snow from their cloaks, they looked about the room.

‘There, that place over there, near the blaze,’ said ‘Stamo, pointing to a table near where three small beings sat. ‘If I move close enough to the heat I think I can thaw these frozen limbs.’ He moved toward his chosen chair and sat down, easing his cloak over the tall chair back. Hiking the thick, dark blue woolen material of his outer robe to his knees he savored the warmth as it began to penetrate his boots and long knit socks.

Mori placed his own cloak over the back of his chair and leaned in toward his companion. ‘I’m going up to the counter to get us some food and drink.’ He eyed ‘Stamo and raised his brow as the man inched his boots closer to the flames. ‘And don’t think about pulling your boots off to get those toes of yours warmer. The stench will drive out those nearby and we’ll both be asked to leave!’

With a warning glare, he stood and walked up to where the ale casks stood. ‘Good sir!’ Mori hailed the innkeeper. ‘Two of those steaming drinks,’ he said, pointing to the mugs the Hobbits were holding. ‘What is it called? It smells wonderful! And would you have something for two cold and weary travelers to fill their bellies with?’ He fished for the pouch in the deep pocket of his indigo robe. And finding it, pulled out a number of oddly marked gold coins. ‘Will this do?’ he said, leaving them in a small heap on the wooden counter. ‘Pleasant place here, The Green Man. Interesting name. Is it a local one, here in the north?’ he went on.

His eyes slid about the room, noting the shutters were latched tight, and the door bore iron holders where a stout beam might be put to secure it. ‘Good,’ he murmured to himself, not wanting the terrors in the darkness to intrude upon this haven.

[Undómë]

The tall man’s question drew her attention, waking her again as had the song of the three little folk. Old Goody Holtsdottir turned her wrinkled face to where the voice had come from. The one good eye of that ancient crone peered out from between the strands of grey shot hair, focusing on the speaker. It darted down the length of him and up, coming to rest with a look of surprised interest at last on his face. He bore a certain glamour, it seemed to her. And though he wore it easily enough, she thought he was constrained by it.

Guðælfr, for that was her given name, shifted her old bones on the hard seat of the chair and looked at the man’s companion. Relaxed as a cat might be before the fire, though like a cat, she minded, his senses were not dulled by his enjoyment of the warmth. And at need, she thought, he might spring up, the mask of drowsy contentment thrown off.

‘The wheel of the year turns in this cold land this night,’ she said, leaning out into the light from her dark corner. ‘See,’ she said, nodding toward the hearth. ‘The Green Man gives us one of his great limbs to push back the darkness and holly from his hair with which to keep it lit. That and the good barley for the wassail, the wheat for the bread, and the fruits of the vine and flower for mead and wine. A good ‘un, he is.’ ‘Though he suffers no fools,’ she cackled’ ‘ ‘Pon you, it is, to keep from the darkness.’

She cocked her head listening to the wind as it beat upon the shutters. Her gaze flicked to the sturdy door. ‘Hear that!’ she asked. ‘There’s a voice ‘at moans in the wind. The trees beyond the village have caught it in their limbs and throw it back now. Listen! Listen now! Something hungry comes, I think.’

Goody sat back in her chair, the clarity afforded by the present moment, passing. She mumbled a few indistinct words over the cup of cooling wassail in her hand, peering into it as she swirled the fragrant liquid with a bony finger of her other hand.

[Child of the 7th Age]

'Twas the night of the winter solstice, a time of deep magic and distant memories that had been almost buried under shadow. For not only did the dwarves and hobbits and men huddle close to the fire and tell their tales, but even the creatures of the dark forests and wild plains came together to share a morsel of warmth.

There were two paths that led to the Green Man Free House. The one skirted the front facade of the Inn: a path filled with two-leggeds and the animals they called their own. But another smaller track came around the back, leading up from the river and a vast thicket of trees. Here there were few two-leggeds but, instead, all kind of creatures rambling and lumbering and leaping into the outer courtyard of the Inn, right next to a broken down shed.

A snowy owl sat on the eve of the Inn, staring down at the small assemblage of beasts who had made their way into the back courtyard. Several had slipped and slithered under the gate; three creatures had flown down from the trees, and a few of the larger visitors had pushed over an old board in the fence, intent on wriggling their way inside. A small pile of garbage had been set to burn earlier that day, and a few smouldering coals yet remained to throw out its warmth over the animals now slinking inside the courtyard.

[Arry]

‘What’s that she said?’ whispered Madoc turning round to where the old woman had disappeared into the shadows. ‘Something hungry? And coming this way?’ He frowned and cocked his head toward the nearest shuttered window. ‘Can’t hear a thing, save for the wind and the snow as it mashes against the wooden siding.’

‘Well I heard something moaning when she was talking.’ Willem’s eyes grew wide as he spoke. ‘Reminded me of something.’ He let the images form from the old stories that he’d heard. ‘You know how granda used to tell those tales his granda used to tell him? The one about where he and his brother lost a nanny from their herd, is what I’m thinking of. T’ the west there . . . where the Grey Mountains touch the forest. They hunted high and low among the mountain ash and the firs. There were things in there, granda said, that walked among the trees. Like shepherds to them as we be to our goats.’ He took a sip from his cup and went on. ‘Granda said they were careful to keep out of sight and out of the way of those creatures. Not that they looked fierce or mean or such. But so concerned with their flock were they, that it seemed they would have no regret or the slightest reluctance about trampling right over you if you got in their way. And anyway what I was trying to say was that he said they had a booming kind of voice and a sort of echoing moan when calling to their trees.’

‘It’s just the wind as has you spooked,’ said Andwise. ‘You know we’ve been on those slopes many a time, and seen no such creatures as granda spoke of. The trees were all rooted nicely on the mountainside, ash and fir alike. And not a bit of calling passed among them as I remember.’ He chuckled as he raised his mug to Willem. ‘Now, not saying granda’s tetched or such, but mayhap the cider he’d brought for his lunch had turned hard. And its spirits set him daydreaming.’

Willem eyed Andwise and snorted. ‘If granda said it happened that way, then that’s the way it was!’ Madoc shrugged, not wanting to choose sides and went back to considering his cup of wassail.

‘Granny!’ Willem turned round in his chair and leaned forward to where Old Goody sat. ‘Begging your pardon, Granny . . . but about that Green Man fellow. I know you said he’d given his limb for the Yule fire, but you don’t suppose he’s reconsidered the giving, has he? And come to take it back . . . ?

[littlemanpoet]

The sun was well past setting. Out of the northern woods came a pair of reindeer running side by side, hitched to a sleigh. The sleigh was piled high with skins, tied together with sinew-string, into sacks holding rumpled and unknown contents. A rider sat amongst it all. The runners, of tree rind, shaped under knife, cured and oiled with care, made new tracks in the deepening snow.

The Green Man Free House came within sight. Bright it was against the dark of night, its windows like eyes looking cheerily.

The sleigh slowed before the House. The rider jumped from the sleigh, flinging the reins over the reindeer horns, wrapping them to post, pulling out two feed sacks, tying them to so that the animals could feed or not, and munch snow if they wished for their water. The rider tied down all that was needed to stay on the sleigh, and pulled off one sack from it and slung it to shoulder, trudging to the front door.

Not over tall was the rider, the leather footwear home-made, not very large. The hooded figure's face was hid as opened was the door and light of warming fire shown on the sack bearer. A work roughened hand was revealed as fur lined gloves were removed, and the large hood was pushed back to reveal a face fair and beardless, hair yellow as summer grain and a braided ponytail thick as a dozen year sapling. The jaw was strong, the cheekbones high, the brow broad though fair.

"Where's the welcome for Wenda?" she said with a smile as she stamped the snow from her leathern boots and slung the sack from her back.

[Undómë]

Goody roused herself from her ale-tinged ruminations. There in some less fuddled corner of her mind was a voice, a question. ‘Granny!’ now who would call that out to her, she wondered. The only seeds she’d sown and nurtured had been those herbs she’d grown for simples. No get from her barren belly e’er got babes of their own.

‘Begging your pardon, Granny . . .’

Her eye focused on the halfling’s face as she recalled his question. ‘The Green Man? Take back his gifting?’ she cackled loudly at the thought. ‘Nay, nay, my little friend.’ Her gaze shifted round the room, peering into the shadows. ‘But that’s not to say there’s not others would douse the light and swallow us whole.’

She pushed back some straying strings of hair and tucked them loosely behind her ear. ‘Something’s moving in the darkness. Best poke up the fire, good sir, and drive it back.’

She laughed again a phlegmy undertone rattling against any merriness she’d intended. Goody held out her cup to Willem. ‘Granny’s throat is dry lad. Fill my cup to keep it wet, and I’ll tell you a story ‘bout those creatures your grandfather spoke of . . . the ones as watched over the trees.’

[Bêthberry]

Carr Daynysson trundled into the large hall that led out from the kitchen and nearly stumbled into the furry bundle that was Wenda. "Of course, ya wench, there's great welcome. Come and warm yourself with the likes of the folk here who be willing to tell the tales to keep the log burning."

The two marched past the great fireplace where the Yule Log was burning. Wenda betook herself to a chair beside the two tall men while Carr carried a huge, steaming urn which he placed upon the table, while behind him hurried a young lad of maybe ten or twelve year, who balanced a large tray filled with mugs of various shapes and sizes. The boy was small but wiry, large dark eyes wide with excitement at being allowed up this night with the adults. His ears had heard every comment, comments which Carr had not always heard, given his deaf ear, and so the lad had proudly informed the Innkeeper that his attention was wanting.

"Tankee, Birger, you're a handy spare ear or twa," observed Carr as he opened the spiggott of the urn to fill mugs all round. He handed two to the men identified as Mori and Stamo. "Your coin is good for several more," he announced, "and more particularly your apparent curiousity in the Green Man."

Mori raised an eye at the Innkeeper and helped himself to some of the warm brew to chase the cold away from his belly. Carr handed a mug to Wenda, refilled the halflings' mugs, and peered into Goody's mug. He eyed her sombrely and then refilled it.

"There's strange knockin's and noises outside. Best get on wit' your tale, Goody."

And with that he poured the lad a small mug and himself a tall one.

[Koobdooga]

Koobdooga's post -- Egil

Egil raised a hand in welcome when Wenda entered. His deepset eyes glittered in appraisal of the sack she’d slung to the floor. One hand slid down to pat the sack couched beside his chair.

The Glitterfist Hall had been busy these past few months. Beneath the western tip of the Iron Hills their forges had belched out great clouds of smoke and their hammers had rung out against the metals used in the making of fabulous toys. Set with glittering gems in the whorls of enameled color and the cleverest of mechanisms, the bright creations would whirr and twirl and move about at the turn of a key. They were much prized by the men of this northern area. And those who could make the trading price bought them to be handed down to their children and to their children’s children.

Already, Egil had delivered a small creation, egg-shaped and golden, to the mayor of the town. Set with rubies about its middle, it twirled slowly at the key’s turning on its red enameled base, blossoming open like a flower to reveal the tiny figure of a huntsman all in gold as he gave the death blow to a great, tusked boar with his stout stave.

The Dwarf chuckled to himself, recalling how proud the mayor was of the kill last year, and wanted something to recall it to mind for his future generations. His good-wife, on the other hand, was desirous of something pretty. And as their purse would not stretch to cover two toys, a compromise had been struck.

He pulled his chair nearer to the great fireplace as the others gathered about the steaming urn, stowing his sack carefully out of the way beneath it. Taking the offered mug, he raised it to Goody, and gave her an encouraging nod. ‘Go on then, Gran,’ he said. ‘Tell us your story from the days gone by.’

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Undómë’s post -- Old Goody's tale

Well, then, this is how it was told to me by my Gran, and she got it from hers, and hers before her, and back to that first daughter who spoke the tale. And so it must be true . . .

She saw from the corner of her eye how the Halfling who’d spoken of his granda’s story nodded his head, ‘yes’, at her words.

When the world was young, great stands of trees covered much of it. Beeches and poplar, ash and oak, and the evergreen firs and pines that thrive here in this cold land. And many, many more of their cousins, short and tall; fat and thin.

Beneath the trees and in the glades between the stands, the forest floors were covered with a riot of flowers and tangles of bushes bearing berries or flowers themselves. We two-legged creatures had not walked much in the vastness of these forests; it was the birds and beasts who made the trees and underbrush their home.

Now far, far into the west, it was said, there is a great Lady who loves the growing of things. Large and small, they are all her province, it is said. And some say, though Her lips had not the telling of it, that she sent creatures of her own design to care for her forests and her gardens.

Great, tall beings. Brown limbed and lithe; clad in green and grey bark; their chins covered with twiggy, bushy beards. Dark brown eyes they had, deep wells of brown shot with a green light. They keep off strangers and the foolhardy. They train and teach and walk and weed. Herders of the trees; wanderers in the mountains and the valleys and the plains where the trees grow. They keep them safe, as they can. Still do, though it’s said the number of their kind grows less.

She looked at the Dwarf and then round the others in the room.

‘Woe to the one who takes axe or fire to Tree-walkers’ flock. He might find himself snatched up by long brown fingers and the air squeezed out of him, til his eyes pop and heart goes still. Or crushed under a great seven-toed foot, down down into the ground. For the worms and such to feed on.

She cackled at the expressions on her listeners’ faces. ‘We should all be grateful as the Green Man has gifted us this tree,’ she said, throwing another piece of holly into the heart of the blaze.

Her gaze drifted to the glowing embers beneath the flames.

‘I saw’un once,’ she murmured low. ‘Oh, not the great tall walkers. A pretty little thing, she was. Cheeks as red and full as any apple as ever grew. Soft, white flowers in her silky yellow hair. It was early of a morning, at my granny’s hut. Late spring, too. With the dog-tooth violets just coming into bloom beneath the apple tree at the edge of the herb garden. Milking the nanny is what I was about. And I saw her, with my two good eyes back then, as I started for the goat shed. She was humming to herself. And first I thought there was bees about. But it was her. A pleased sort of humming. And she bent right over the edge of my gran’s garden and ran her long, thin fingers through the plants as were just bushing out. She looked up and caught me looking right at her and trying to be still as ever I could. Quick as a wink she took herself off.

‘Well, you can bet I took myself off, too, ran fast as my short legs’d carry me to tell gran what I’d seen. She weren’t surprised in the least. Just said I’d seen her ‘visitor’. Like it was the most everyday thing as could happen. “She likes my garden,” gran told me. “Comes to weed it when she can. And she stirs the plants.”

‘ “Stirs the plants?” I asked.

‘ “Wakes ‘em up a bit. Sorts ‘em out and tell’s ‘em what they need to know to grow to suit her. Has her own ideas about such things. Most particular.”

‘Anyways, at was all she’d say about it. And I never saw the pretty little lady again. Still . . . always tried to keep my herbs all in order and growing good in my own garden. Just in case, you know . . .’

Old Goody’s voice trailed off, and she seemed to fall in on herself once again. The Yule log crackled and popped, an ember flying out onto the hearth. She roused herself enough to shoo it back in where it belonged.

[piosenniel]

The stubby tailed, brown mouse of a bird, a winter’s wren ( http://www.roysephotos.com/zzWinterWren1.jpg), flitted from branch to gate post to eave of the ramshackle shed, finally coming to rest on the rim of the old oak bucket that sat by the smoldering trash heap. He ruffled his feathers, fluffing out against the cold night and hopped from foot to foot. Across the smoldering heap he could see the other birds and beasts who’d come to claim their place by the small fire’s warmth for the night.

His bright black eyes took in the gathering and a rich, fife-like piping rose from his throat, trilling up with the rising smoke. He was glad to be here, though uncertain what had brought him from his nest in the rotted log near the stream. Something had called him, he was sure of it; lifted him from the dark night’s torpor as he snuggled warmly in his nest of leaves and twigs and bits of fluff got from the summer’s cattails. Something . . .

Flitting the short way to the ground, he ran mouselike toward the edge of the mound where the embers burned the brightest. ‘Look!’ he cried. The sound of his voice caught in a semblance of words surprised him. An otter lifted his sleek-furred head and grinned at him, as if he understood.

‘Look!’ he went on, his left wing pointing to the pulsing heart of the coals. ‘There are pictures moving in the fire.’

[Bêthberry]

The first night passed without incident, all yet merry with the thoughts of the festivities. Most of the guests stayed up to hear Goody's tale and were rewarded with more than a quiver down their spine. Yet, as the night drew on, most slowly wended their way towards their rooms, which the Innkeeper had warmed with hot stones in their beds. Goody and a few others remained to keep the Yule Log burning but Carr had been among those who sought sleep. Time enough later he decided to sit with the tellers.

And so the morn brought work, clearing out the kitchen fires and rekindling them, helping Cook prepare the breads and stews and pies by bringing up supplies from the larder, no easy task given his leg. Each year at this time it ached and he remembered Yules past.

He sprinkled the embers out on the pile where yesterday's rubbage had been burned and noticed the tracks around it, most of which he recognised. Aye! Let all animals take community in these dark nights that welcome a new year. He heard a short, sharp chirp. A wren was it? Carr looked up and saw a snowy owl perched atop the shed. Maybe with these around other creatures more fey would stay away.

With that he returned to the Inn, offerring Goody a heaping plate of breakfast buns and cheeses, some eggs and sausages and gut stuffing, a steaming cup of coffee. A reward of free breakfast for each teller! The first watch had passed and the log burned brightly. Would Good stay to tell more? He couldn't remember how her tale had ended.... sleepy old man that he was.

[Nerindel]

He heard it again a harsh rasping sound within the concealment of the trees, attempting unsuccessfully to mimic the whisper of the wind through the swaying bare branches of the oak and the yew. Three times now he had heard it and again he turned, his sharp eyes searching futilely for a source, but again nothing! It was there, what ever it was, watching, waiting, he could feel it. Cracked dry lip’s curled in distain as he shot a warning glare into the dawn shadows of the trees.

“Who or what ever evil haunts this place would be well advised to come no further and trouble not those beyond, least they wish to feel the sharp bite of Mandur’mak! (Hell’s sword)” His gruff voice echoed a moment before being swallowed up by the renewed howling of the harsh winds.

“Now if that name doesn’t drive the fear of Eru into what ever lingers hither, perhaps knowing who wields it may?” A soft melodic voice whispered.

A vibrant young woman wrapped in artic bear furs stepped out of the shadows behind the dark clad stranger, The first wisp’s of fresh white snow landing on dark brown curls. He did not mark her appearance with any undue surprise, for in fact he had known her to be there for sometime, shadowing his advance towards this sleepy snow covered village.

“Arato, ‘The eternal’, wielder of Hell’s sword,” she went on coming to his left shoulder and running a leather gloved hand long the pommel and hilt of the sword that hung ever ready at his side. “ Sworn to Serve and Protect the lands and it’s people from the denizens of the dark, to send them to the void where they belong and to ensure they never return!” He said nothing in reply his gaze still fixed on the shadow filled forest , but he had heard every word though it meant nothing to him, not like it once had.

“Penitent soul? cursed warrior? heroic fool?” She smiled sympathetically as she came to stand before him, her green eye sparkling like emeralds as they found his.

“All and none” he smiled back wistfully, “all and none” he repeated raising a dark gloved hand to touch her pale cheek.

“I thank the Valar that you came,” she sighed, closing her eyes as she nestled her cheek in his hand recalling the warmth of his touch.

“Well do not waste your thanks, they have nothing to do with my decision to come!” Arato huffed, pulling his hand suddenly away. “You know as well as I that they sit protected and safe from the hardships of this world and do nothing to aid in the struggles of mortal men, I want not and need not of them let the elves worship them if they will but men make there own fate and are influenced by none but themselves!” his reply was sharp and betrayed more than a little bitterness that stung at the young woman’s heart.

She was not elven herself , but had been raised by them and had taken their beliefs as her own, she did what they did out of love for the world created for them by Illuvatar and the Valar, too protect that which was given them. Maranwe the elves had named her telling her that it meant destiny, for those elves believed that nothing happened with out purpose and that they had been destined to find her.

But Arato was different and Maranwe believed he no longer knew for what purpose he fought, he had lost much and was marred by the evils he had see and faced and it was for this purpose that she had begged him to met her here. That she may once more remind him why they do what they do.

“Hush let us not speak of such things, the Yule log is lit and must be kept, there is drink to be drunk and Tales to be told,” she smiled her hand gently finding his, he did not look at her but continued to look out into the darkness for sign’s of what lingered beyond his sight.

“If I stand here any longer, I shall freeze!” she laughed lightly stamping her feet on the soft wet snow in an attempt to warm them.

“What ever is out there can wait, if it has not run off already, look a new day is born… Please Arato will you not see the turning of the year with me!” She concluded as he finally turned to face her.

“The Yule? has a year really passed already? He whispered half to himself, shaking his head in mild surprise.

“My Lady I would be delighted to spend the Yule tide with you, if you are sure you can endure my company that long?” he then grinned holding out his free arm for her to take. With a shake of her head and a smile of her own she took his arm and together they took the last few feet to stand before the door of the green man free house.

Holding forth the door Arato let the lady enter before him, then leaning his staff by the door , he graciously helped her out of her cloak, his marred hands fumbling briefly with the clasp, before slipping it from her shoulders and turning to hang it from a peg by the door. He was astounded to turn and see that she wore not the leathers and forest garb to which he had become accustom but a fine gown of festive red velvet that hugged her waist elegantly and gave her a beauty that till now he had never noticed.

She grinned at him knowingly and indicated a small table close to the fire, near to where others where gathered, he nodded his agreement and continued to watch her as she walked towards the small group, then chuckling within his hood he noted that she still wore her boots under the long skirts of the fine garment, the boots that he knew concealed the daggers that had save their lives on more than one occasion.

“You can take the girl out of the warrior but not the warrior out of the girl” he chuckled to himself removing his own cloak and hanging it next to Maranwe’s. His Dark hair was peppered with grey and his careworn face was marked by three deep scars running side by side down his left cheek and neck, but he thought nothing of it as he moved to join Maranwe who was now speaking with what look like the innkeeper of the establishment, enquiring if they were yet too early for breakfast and a tankard or two of mead.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The great owl who'd been perched on a bough, high above the assembly, glanced down at the wren and heard him speak. As if in response, the owl spread out his snowy wings and glided to the earth, standing almost at the edge of the firepit. The bird's tone, though solemn, was not unkindly as he turned to address the wren and the others in the circle. His speech, like that of the other animals, was not the common tongue used by Man, but the ancient language of the Elves that some call Quenyan. In his snowy plumage, the owl looked much like a wizard with billowing white robes.

"Has not your mother told you the tale?" the owl gently chastised the wren. "On this, the longest night of the year, when the Yule log crackles on the hearth, all the creatures of the field and woods come together and speak the old tongue, the father of all words. And strange pictures leap out of the dying flames to remind us creatures of what we must do tonight."

A small rabbit rushed to the front of the crowd, breaking loose from his mother's stern grasp, and ran over to where the embers smoldered, his voice laced with wonder, "I see a picture. I do see it. There are wonderful trees dancing in the flames.....apple and cherry trees, I do believe." He glanced over shyly at the owl and asked, "But what does this mean?"

"Do they teach nothing to children these days?" The owl grumbled under his breath. Out loud he said, "But this is the night when the earth comes alive. We must go wassailing and sing to the trees so they will bring forth blooms in the spring and then the sweet fruit."

Just at this moment, a line of fruit trees sitting just outside the courtyard of the Inn began waving their branches and leaning far over the fence as if calling out for a song. The owl piped up and began his verse:

Oh lily white lily your lily white pin,
Please to come out & let us come in.
Lily your lily your lily white smock’
Please to come out & pull back the lock.

A great bear lumbered up pushing a gigantic barrell that had been left at the cellar door, which was filled with last fall's cider. He sat down squarely on the cask and broke open the wood casing so the cider ran out in pools. Quickly, the animals scampered forward to drink and soon all were singing quite loudly and just a bit off key:

Our wassail, jolly wassail
And joy come to our jolly wassail
How well they may bloom, how well they may bear
So that we may have apples and cider next year.
Oh master and mistress oh are you within?
Please to come out and pull back the pin

There was an old farmer and he had an old cow,
wanted to milk her but didn’t know how.
He put his old cow down in an old barn,
and a little more cider won’t do us no harm.

Harm me boys harm, harm me boys harm,
and a little more cider won’t do us no harm.

The girt dog of Langport, he burnt his long tail,
And this is the night we go singing Wassail,
O Master and missus oh we must be gone,
We invoke Varda's blessing 'til we come again.

Oh the ringles and the jingles
and the tenor of the song go: merrily
Merrily, merrily, oh the tenor of the song goes: Merrily

Hatfulls, capfulls, three bushel bagfulls
and a little heap under the stars.

Hip hip hooray!

[piosenniel]

‘Here’s one for the mossy-bearded apple tree!’ chirped the little wren. He’d found the ale to his liking and had managed to down his fair share. He puffed out his breast feathers in the pale morning light and trilled a merry tune.

Oh apple tree, we'll wassail thee
And hoping thou wilt bear
For who might know where we may go
To be merry another year

To grow well and to bear well
And so merrily let us be
Let every creature down his drink
And ‘was hael’ to the old apple tree
Brave lads, and a health to the old apple tree

The ancient apple tree beyond the gate rattled its sere leaves and banged a branch or two against the wooden fence. The wren flew tipsily to the tree’s branches and danced along the length of a bare limb. Others of the animals gathered took up the singing, all of them feeling exceptionally merry, if not a little fuddled in their thinking.

His head reeling a bit from the long night without rest and the good ale, the wren gave the old tree a last bow and flew up to one of the shuttered windows at the back of the Inn. There was a small knothole, just big enough for him to crawl into and begin to tuck his addled head beneath one wing. The inner shutters were latched tight and he leaned his body heavily against them.

The sounds of voices in the room beyond barely reached his sinking consciousness. But, all of a sudden the inner shutters were pulled open and his drowsing form tumbled inward. He landed clumsily on a dark blue robe folded neatly on the bench beneath the window. Above him stood a tall man, looking down the length of his nose at the poor bird. And just beyond the one man was another, just as tall, all wrapped in his bed sheets and peering at the wren with a questioning look on his face.

‘Begging your pardon, sirs,’ the wren managed to tweet out. His head was aching now from the fall. He yawned widely, an incongruous act for one with a beak to manage. He fluffed out his feathers and looked blearily at the two large creatures. The room was nice and warm. With another large yawn he fell to his side on the soft material, and began to snore . . .

[Envinyatar]

Mori paced about the small room; the only light in the darkness of the early morning, a candle. And it near burnt down to the plate it stood on. Stamo groaned and pulled the quilts over his head. He was tired of hearing his companion’s voice . . .

First it had been about the story the old woman had told. Mori had sat straight up on the straw filled mattress and said quite firmly, ‘I knew it!’ Stamo had sighed and propped himself up on one elbow, knuckling the tiredness from his eyes. ‘Knew what?’

While Stamo’s dreams had fled eastward to the rugged steppes and wide landscapes in which he now moved with ease, Mori’s had flown west and he began to talk about the Lady there. A Lady both of them knew quite well. She was a sister to their patron’s wife. ‘Do you remember,’ Mori had said, quite pleased with himself. ‘She made an entreaty, that her beloved trees have some who might watch over them. I’m sure those are the very creatures the old woman and that Halfling spoke of.’

Wishing to return to sleep, Stamo mumbled some affirmative that indeed it must be so. And wasn’t it clever of Mori to have put the pieces together. He was just easing himself back onto his pillow, when he felt his companion jostle him on the shoulder. ‘What’s that now?’ Mori whispered, getting up from the bed. Stamo could hear him fumbling about in the darkness, and then the quick, sudden light of the candle dispelled any hope of further sleep.

‘Best you not be doing that trick outside this small room’s walls,’ Stamo chided him. ‘These Northern men may mistake it for some shadow-craft.’ He sat up groggily on the edge of the bed and gathered the quilts about him for warmth. There were muffled sounds coming from beyond their shuttered window. Singing they thought, down in the courtyard their room overlooked, at the back of the inn. An odd assortment of noises, too. Not just off key in a drunken sort of way, but gruff in a way, and growling at times. And at others as high and light as the voice of some sweet tongued bird. Accompanying it were scratchings and scufflings as of branches scraping against wood in the wind or the heavy-footed steps of some large creature as it tried to move in time to the song.

‘It’s only some who’ve been awake all night,’ Stamo said. ‘Still singing; their bellies full of ale. There’s naught to be concerned about.’

‘Then they must have come while we were sleeping. And why are they standing about in the back yard of the inn and even more curious, how is it that they’re drunk?’ Mori looked expectantly at Stamo, who had lost his friend’s line of reasoning long ago. ‘The Elves,’ said Mori, to the further confusion of Stamo. ‘Who else do we know who speak Quenya?’

Mori’s hands were now on the latch that held closed the inner shutters of their window. Stamo had risen, too, curious now about his friend’s statements. He’d wrapped the top quilt from the bed about him in an attempt to keep away the cold. His eyes went wide at the small feathered form that fell in with a plop! onto his folded robe as Mori pulled the shutters open. And even more his surprise when the tiny wren opened his beak and made excuses for his sudden entrance.

‘The bird is talking!’ Stamo stuttered his gaze fixed on the now snoring form.

‘And quite drunk, by the smell of him,’ Mori added, his nose wrinkling at the sour odor of old ale upon the wren’s feathers. ‘Get dressed,’ he went on, scooping the inert form into his large hand. He tucked it carefully into the sleeve of his robe and motioned for Stamo to follow him down stairs.

The two made their way out of doors and round to the back of the inn. The trees about the area looked all in their place and round the warmth of the refuse heap were a few small animals poking about for scraps, or just huddling near the warmth of the coals. An overturned barrel lay near a broken down shed, empty of the ale it once held. And there, on the spine of the shack’s tattered roof, perched a snowy white owl, his great golden eyes staring at the two tall men who were just entering the courtyard proper.

‘Greetings, my friends!’ Mori called out gently in Quenya to the curious assembly. There were scuffling sounds as if others lurked in the shadows about the yard or beyond the yard among the trees. He scooped the still sleeping form of the wren from within his sleeve and held it out on his palm. The poor little bird appeared dead, so still was he. ‘Are you missing one of your number, perhaps?’

[Arry]

Willem was the first of the Hobbits down the stairs to the common room. ‘Bring us a plate of buns and cheese and eggs, if they have them,’ said Madoc from beneath his layers of quilts. ‘And tea, hot tea and plenty of it with honey.’ He snuggled down deep into his nest, mumbling how it was too cold to get up yet.

‘And sausages!’ came Andwise’s voice. ‘Or at least some rashers of bacon.’ His voice was less loud in its requests. He’d tipped a few too many cups las evening, and his head pounded with the effort of too much movement or too loud noises. They’d both been snoring again by the time Willem had finished tucking his shirt into his breeches and ran his fingers as a comb through his hair.

Standing on the last stair, Willem looked about the room. There, near the fire, was the old woman who’d told that wonderful story. She hadn’t moved an inch, he thought, since last he’d seen her.

‘Granny,’ he said, coming to stand at the edge of the small table on which her plate of food had been set. ‘I just wanted to thank you for the tale you told last night.’ He pulled out a chair and sidled onto it, his legs swinging freely off the ground. I hope you don’t mind me sitting here with you. The fire is nice and warm, feels good against my feet.’

He eyed her heaping plate of food, and his belly began to grumble quite loudly. It was Madoc who carried their coin, and he chided himself for forgetting to get some from the little leather pouch Madoc had left on the chest in their room.

[Undómë]

‘Your belly’s as loud as a sky full of thunder!’ Goody chortled as she looked at her tablemate. Her knobby fingers cradled the cup of hot, strong coffee, as much for the warmth of it as for the drinking. ‘Don’t fancy naught but a hot drink of a morning any more,’ she went on. ‘Like as not, cook will be shaking her finger at me if she comes out and finds her good food gone cold.’

She eyed Willem and nodded her head. ‘Don’t suppose you could help an old woman out, could you?’ She nudged the plate of still steaming food toward his side of the table. ‘I’ve a mind to sit here and watch the fire burn into the new year. Keep me company for a bit and give us a tale of your own. I’ll trade this heap of savories for a heap of words from you.’ She pushed the plate right under his nose. ‘And what’s your name, lad. Let’s start with that. My name’s Guðælfr Holtsdottir. Old Goody, to most. But you can call me Granny if you wish. Seems respectful enough from your lips.’

In the fireplace, the flames drew down and she leaned forward to push the great log in just a little further. ‘Now tell me a tale, sir. And one I’ve not heard, if you can.’ She poked at the coals, pushing them about the unburnt wood. ‘Old Goody’s herbs are sleeping this time of year; so there’ll be no gathering of them to ease the aches and pains. And so she’s gone to gathering words,’ she crooned softly to herself. ‘So as to ease the spirit.’

‘Go on now, lad,’ she urged him once again, her gaze coming round to fix on him. ‘Eat your breakfast. And give Old Goody a tale.’

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda roused herself and struggled out of the straw filled bedding. She threw her furs over her agile girth, her boots on her feet, and went out to her reindeer, making sure of their care before seeing to her own. Then she went inside.

As she came inside, she overheard the old crone whose tale she'd listened to eagerly. "Go on now, lad. Eat your breakfast. And give Old Goody a tale."

She was speaking to one of the three halflings, the first for his first breakfast, seemingly.

"Aye!" said Wenda. "I'd like to hear a good tale from a halfling after the dire whisperings I've heard before I got here. Then if you like I'll give you a taste of what I've heard."

This far to the north, the sun came close to never rising for weeks at a time each year. Those were chilling times to soul as much as bone, and Wenda had heard enough to chill her own soul for three winters running back to back, 'may whatever gods that oversee such things ne'er let such come' she said to herself.

Wenda sat nigh to the pair but at a different table, not wanting to go where she'd not been invited. The yule log's fire was heating her well enough where she sat.

[Arry]

‘Go ahead, m’am,’ Willem said, looking over to where Wenda had sat down. ‘Go ahead and tell us your news.’ He looked at the generous helping of breakfast Goody had given him. ‘I think I’ll be busy with this for a while. And besides, I don’t know too many real tales. A poem or two and some things my granda told me. I can always tell you one later . . . if that’s all right with you Granny.’

He stood up from his chair and pulled one out for Wenda. ‘Would you like to sit with us, m’am?’ he asked. ‘Easier to talk if you’re sitting nearer.’ He looked at Goody, but she had gone back to poking at the fire, her cup of coffee forgotten on the table.

Willem sat back down, figuring Wenda would come to sit if she wished. His eyes took in the feast before him; he hardly knew where to begin. He picked up the spoon Goody had passed over to him, and began shoveling up the eggs. Halfway through he broke one of the buns in two and used it as a scoop so that not a morsel was wasted. The sausages came next, stuffed in a second bun, and after them the savory scoop of gut pudding. Willem took a deep breath once the last bite was swallowed and pushed himself back from the table.

‘Sorry,’ he said, pushing the plate away from him. ‘I just don’t think I can squeeze in even one piece of that cheese.’ He pursed his lips as if reconsidering. ‘Well, not right now, at least,’ he said, pulling the plate back toward him. He picked up the last bun and stuffed it with the cheese. ‘I’ll just save it for later.’

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda thanked Willem for his offer, and joined him and Goody at table. She smiled to herself as Willem battled with himself over the last morsel of cheese.

"You're wanting to hear news?" she asked. Encouraged by her two table mates, Wenda went on. "It's best such tales as I have to tell, be told while the sun's on the snow."

Carr Dagnysson came up and placed a hot mug of mulled cider on the table before Wenda. She thanked him well for it, and asked after some eggs and bread and rashers of hogflesh.

"I've no coin, as you might suspect, but I've furs that might serve in their stead, if you take my meaning, Master Dagnysson." Carr tipped his head, considering, and told her he'd talk business later.

If he'd rather have me earn my keep by scullery or some such, so be it as long as I've a roof over my head and walls to keep the unwights out, she said to herself. The howling wind made the walls moan and crack, and Wenda suppressed a shiver.

"I go far north of here where the sun shines not for days and days uncounted, where I get me the white fur from bears, seals, and hares, or the harsh matting of the big tusker. Nay, I never have brought one down alone. I follow the wolf packs and scare them from their kill long enough to cut away the fur. They like it not and threaten my hide or that of my deers often enough, but they like not the taste of my spear and arrows and keep their distance.

"Anyway, it came on dusk and I was still working the skin off a tusker, when the growling of the wolves changed to whimpers of fear and they slunk away. What, I ask myself, might put fear into the wolves more than me? I looked around thinking I might find a hungry bear or worse."

Wenda stopped to take a sip from her mulled cider.

"Worse it was, and the hairs on my neck hackled. It was there and it wasn't, this shadow, as if it was made of the dusk and the wind. No troll nor warg nor orc was this, and I thought I was dead or soon to be. I ran, leaving the skin uncut, pulling my deers along with me. Once I got me under some firs, I looked back. The shadow had settle itself over the felled beast. And I saw it rise, a fell light in its eyes, its skin hanging off it where I'd cut, and it started walking toward me. I fled."

Wenda broke off and looked at the door, as if making sure it was closed, as she sipped more of her cider.

"When did this happen?" asked Willem.

"Four nights back," Wenda replied. "To this place I fled, straight. May it keep fell beasts without."

[Koobdooga]

Egil’s ears pricked up as Wenda spoke. The Dwarf’s brow furrowed at her tale of a shadow and fell beasts. ‘Did it follow you, lass?’ he asked, drawing near to the table so as to hear the last of her words. ‘And the shadow you spoke of, could you tell if it followed after? And how far?’

‘Sorry to listen in,’ he said to the three at the table. ‘But I’m traveling further north once the snow lets up a little. There’s a small settlement of men just north of the withered heath I’ve some business with. Were you near there or passed through at all?’

[Nerindel]

Arato and Maranwe now sat at the small table she had first pointed out on their arrival, it was close enough to the fire to share in it’s warmth and glow, but not yet close enough that it’s heat would fuel their weariness and bring them to sleep too soon. While it was true that they had not slept that night, neither looked for rest, both accustomed to rationing sleep as was their need in the paths they each chose to tread. Besides they had only just arrived and it would be rude to not sit awhile, they had both reasoned silently. As luck had had it they had arrived just as breakfast had begun being served. Once introduced to the Innkeeper, Carr Dagnysson and the procurement of bed and board agreed upon and coin exchanged, the innkeeper had seen to it that both the breakfast and mead requested was brought to them.

As he ate Arato listened to Mara, (he oft shortened her name thinking it less elvish than the full name given her) as she describe how dark things had been said to have taken up residence in the woodlands of her adoptive parents homelands, explaining that that was where she had been for the past several months. She off course had no need to explain herself to anyone least of all him, but he let her continue regardless, understanding that she sometimes needed to talk things through to either sort them out in her own head or to get another’s fresh objective.

“And did you find anything interesting?” he asked casually, before removing another mouthful of fluffy, yellow eggs from his fork.

“No, not at first ,” she answered after swallowing a morsel of her own breakfast, “the usual, dangers of the woods off course, Wild bears and other forest dwellers, a bandit or two chancing their luck on the forest road, but nothing to cause any undue alarm. In fact I was all for giving up and turning back when I noticed the branches of the trees above my head shaking,”

“Not Just the wind then?” Ataro asked nonchalantly, waving his fork before him as he spoke.

“No the Autumn winds blew northwards yet the branches above my head pulled south, Strange I thought to myself.”

“Strange, indeed.” Ataro replied, his fork forgotten halfway to his mouth and his left brow raised in contemplation, his interest now truly captured as he waited for Mara to continue.

“So I followed the pull and as I walked I became aware in the fading light that several of the trees where connected by a fine thread of some sort and the further south I went the more of this fine thread was to be found. But not just stretched from tree to tree no it was woven,”

“Like spider webs?” Arato interrupted astounded at what she was implying.

“Yes and that is exactly what they were and as soon as I realised it I was most anxious to get myself and the two elven hunters with me out of there. That’s when we heard it, the clicking a horrible sound never before heard in the greenwood. It sent chills down my very spine and as we executed a hasty retreat I could feel the pull of many hungry eyes watching our every move, it was too much for one of my companions and he ran blindly forwards into one of the webs…” Pausing for a moment to wet her lips and a tightness in her throat with the mead in her tankard, Arato noted a light of sadness in her eyes.

“Did you manage to free him?” he asked quietly as she again set down her Tankard.

“I did,” she nodded. “But not without cost, as I hacked at the sticky threads that held him fast I set my other companion to keep watch for the thing that followed…no hunted us. The clicking sound grew louder and louder as I worked hastily to loosen the hunter from his sticky prison, but as he finally fell free it all went quiet not a natural silence mind you but the deathly sort. ‘Do you think it’s gone’ the freed hunter ask me, but before I could answer a scream from the direction of other hunter who I had sent to watch gave us our answer. We both ran to his aid, but there was no trace of him, he was simply gone. We searched for hours but found nothing but half eaten animal carcasses and bones, some of them not only animals which stole what little hope we had. As the clicking sounds return it became too dangerous to stay so we were forced to leave and report what we had found to the elven king.”

Arato did not miss her sigh at the mention of the elven king, “let me guess !” he sighed shaking his head, “ the danger was too far south to be of concern to the elves and that he would warn his people not wander so far south and he would set patrols to watch the borders!” With an aspirated sigh she nodded that his assumptions were corrected and braced herself for another rebuke from the seasoned warrior about how elves thought of none but themselves, but she knew this was not true, they had their reasons for closing themselves off, just as Arato himself did from time to time. However no rebuke came and they finished off their breakfast in silence, listening only to the crackle of the yule log as it burned and the sound of low voices around them.

His hunger sated and his thirst quenched Arato took out a long wooden pipe and a small leather pouch and proceeded to pack the bowl with a dark brown weed, that smelled particularly earthy as he lit it, he puffed gently and blew out a thin line of white smoke that curled about his head for a moment before floating up towards the rafters. Leaning back in his chair and wondering if anyone would noticed if he closed his eyes for only a moment, he began to hear snippets of the conversation going on at the table next to them.

"Worse it was, and the hairs on my neck hackled. It was there and it wasn't, this shadow, as if it was made of the dusk and the wind. No troll nor warg nor orc was this, and I thought I was dead or soon to be. I ran, leaving the skin uncut, pulling my deers along with me. Once I got me under some firs, I looked back. The shadow had settle itself over the felled beast. And I saw it rise, a fell light in its eyes, its skin hanging off it where I'd cut, and it started walking toward me. I fled."

At this Arato was suddenly aroused from his relaxed stooper and pulling the pipe from between his teeth he quite suddenly reached across the table to pull Maranwe forwards. “ouch!” she gasped as the needle she had taken out to mend a pair of torn breeches pricked her finger.

“Avathar!” he whispered his eyes widening, ignoring her scowl as she put down both the needle and breeches and sucked on her now bleeding thumb.

“Avathar!” she whispered back surprised, taking her thumb from her mouth.

“Yes, Avathar” he repeated looking back at the table behind him.

Maranwe frowned not quite understanding, “There is no Avathar here?” she whispered.

“No ,off course not” Arato replied turning back as he realised that she could not have possibly heard what the young woman had said.

“The young woman at the table behind me, claims to have seen one!” he whispered he eyes narrowing in contemplation of what this could mean, if anything at all.

“Are you sure Arato that is not simply another fireside tale told to make the fire of the yule log seem more inviting and preferable to the cold dark shadows of these long nights?” Maranwe smiled affectionately.

“Perhaps” Arato shrugged, now feeling a little silly for assuming the strangers words to be truth. “But isn’t it true also that many stories are built from truths?” he grinned back unable to entirely admit defeat.

Realising now that Arato would not be satisfied until he learned if there was any truth in this matter, she conceded, packing away her needle and thread into a small leather pouch that hung from her waist and folding the half mended breeches into her pack, she rose.

“Well do you want to learn the truth of this matter or not?” she grinned at the sudden surprised look on her companions face, then grinning back he too rose. But as they turned to ask weather the table would mind if they joined them they where beaten to it by a rather unsettled Dwarf, enquiring as to weather the young woman had been followed by her shadow!

Maranwe almost laughed as the thought of the young woman being chased by her own shadow suddenly popped into her mind, but she bit it back as Arato glared at her smugly, as if to say, see I’m not the only one to hear what I heard said and take it as truth.

“Excuse us we are sorry to interrupt but my friend Arato here was intrigued by your little tale and wondered if we might join you?” Maranwe enquired politely of the small group.

“Intrigued!” the hobbit at the table replied eyeing Arato with astonishment, his gaze lingering briefly on the scared face. But Arato simply smiled giving the hobbit a short courteous nod of his head.

“Off course you are welcome to join us,” the older woman replied to their request, gesturing to Arato that he might wish to pull up the other table to accommodate their increase in numbers. Which he did with little effort or trouble.

Once they were all seated the dwarf again asked the young woman if she had been followed. Maranwe sat back in her chair waiting to hear how this story would unfold, but from the look in the young skinners eyes Arato had already decided that this was no mere tale and he was as interested as the dwarf to learn if it had followed her out of the north, but for entirely different reasons.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Let go of him, you brute. That's my friend. What have you done? Let go, I say."

In a single instant, before the owl or any of the more senior creatures could properly respond to the tall figure in the sweeping robes, a sparrow (http://www.baggs.co.uk/images/smallphotos/Young%20sparrow.jpg) had fluttered into the middle of the circle and landed on Mori's left shoulder. The tiny creature squawked his indignation and began pecking at whatever lay hidden under the folds of the robe. The sparrow seemed singularly intent on rescuing his young friend from what he perceived as certain doom.

"Enough! Enough!" blustered the Owl. "We have distinguished guests, and this is the way you treat them?" He glared over at the sparrow, until the little bird cowered, trembling under the stern gaze. Then the Owl continued in a gentler voice, "Your friend is fine. He will wake soon enough. He has had a drop too much from the cask."

The Owl hooted out an order or two, and four mice scurried over from the edge of the courtyard, carrying soft grass and leaves in their mouths, piling these on top of a rocky crag to make a snug nest for the sleeping wren. "He will be fine there for a moment," the Owl explained, as Mori deposited the bird in the tiny bed. "and you, sparrow, may keep an eye on him."

The Owl waited for the tall figure to rise from the ground, and then turned towards him, nodding his head in a respectful manner. "You speak the old tongue." Owl noted with surprize. "I do not believe we have ever met but I have heard tales of men from ages past who possessed great power and knowledge. Perhaps you and your friends belong to such an order? My cousin Archimedes was privy to one who was clad in brown robes. This two-legged often spoke with the creatures of the woodlands and the plains. He seemed to know all their ways and tongues. It was quite extraordinary. And, oh, the stories he could tell..... 'Twas enough to warm the heart even on the coldest night."

Owl sighed and hung his head. Then he stared over at Mori and mumbled under his breath, speaking as much to himself as the two visitors, "Perhaps you would be willing.... Yes, that is a fine idea, though I shouldn't impose. Still, it seems a pity to pass up such a chance without at least asking....."

Raising his head again, the Owl now addressed Mori directly, "You wouldn't happen to know any stories now? Perhaps a tale or two that would be good for a day such as this when the shadows hang long over the earth?"

There were sounds of approval from every corner of the courtyard as birds and beasts, sometimes at odds with one another, but now nestled close together to share the warmth of their bodies, were hoping to hear a tale.

[Envinyatar]

‘He speaks of the one the Lady sent,’ Stamo whispered to his companion. ‘I wonder if any of the others have been seen by them? It would be good to know how they fare . . .’ He fell quiet as Mori cleared his throat, cutting off that line of thought.

‘Come,’ Mori said, inviting Stamo to sit down beside him. ‘Let’s hunker down closer to the embers with these new friends of ours.’ Two large rounds from the old oak that had been cut for firewood were pushed over by the bear. ‘Your chairs,’ he growled. He gave the two men a toothy smile and sat down quite near them. He loved stories, of any kind, and would often let an unfortunate animal or bird escape his sharp-nailed paws if they offered up a story he hadn’t heard before.

Now Stamo loved to gather stories, too. And Mori, when the animals were sitting quietly, nodded at him to begin.

‘We’ve come from lands far east of here,’ Stamo began. ‘And there the men still tell stories of the animals and their ways. And many of the tales, they assure me, are true ones from the long-ago time . . . when men and animals still spoke freely with each other.’ He settled in comfortably and leaned forward, his gaze sweeping the audience. ‘Now here is one about a foolish hunter and the mouse who undid his foolish deed.’

There were squeaks and chatterings from the four mice who had brought straw for the wren’s little nest. They pushed to the front of the group and sat huddled together; their bright black eyes fixed on the storyteller.

There was once a large village full of very clever people. One day, one of the men, a clever hunter, told his family that he was going out to set some snares. And so he did – working late into the evening to set them all. It was dark, dark night when he returned to his tent. He filled his belly with hot gruel and buttered tea and went off to his bed. Pulling the thick furs over him for warmth he dropped deep into dreaming, smiling in his sleep at all the animals he would find in his traps. ‘Food and furs,’ he could be heard to murmur from his greedy dreams.

The next day, it was time for daylight but no daylight came. The village people knew something was wrong. The sun did not come up. It stayed dark. The clever hunter who had set snares the day before shrugged his shoulders at the dark and said, "I will go and look for my snares anyway. Maybe I got something in my snares." So, he set out in the dark.

When he came to one of his snares, he said to himself, "Yes, I did get something in my snare!" He saw that he had caught the sun in his snare! Now, how could he free the sun? It was too hot to go cut the snare where the sun was caught, so the hunter went back to the village people.

"What happened," he said to them," is that I caught the sun in my snare. That is why the sun cannot come up."

The villagers called a meeting, and everyone was asked to come. Even the animals and birds were called to the meeting. Everyone was told that someone had to go and free the sun.

Well, there was one particular mouse who was there. And this mouse was a very big mouse. He was the biggest animal of all those gathered . . .

‘Yes, even bigger than you,’ Mori answered, as the bear looked up with a frown on his face.

. . . And, anyway, this mouse was asked if he was willing to free the sun. He also had very, very sharp teeth, you see, and he would have to chew the snare wire to free the sun.

"Okay," said the big mouse, "I will go and free the sun." So, he went. He came to the snare where the sun was caught. He started to chew the snare wire. Even though he was burning, he did not give up. He just kept on chewing at the tough tether until the sun was free. He worked so hard and so quickly, he was able to cut through the snare wire before he was all burned up.

Finally, the sun was free. It rose up into the sky and it was daylight again.

The tiny mouse we see today . . .

Stamo picked up one of the little creatures and held him up in the palm of his hand.

. . . it is the mouse that freed the sun from the snare. He was a big, big mouse then. That is how much he burned from before he was able to free the sun. Now he is the smallest animal there is. And the rainbow that we see, so they tell me . . . that was the snare that caught the sun.

[Folwren]

The silence that followed the end of Stamo's story was broken abruptly as the door swung open and a blast of cold air and winter flurry tumbled together through the open doorway. But only for an instant, before a tall heavily bundled man had sprung in and shut the door behind him.

'Blades and Barnicles!' he exclaimed, stamping the snow from his feet and shaking his great shoulders. 'It's cold enough to kill a horse! I beg your pardon,' he said, to the few pairs of keen eyes that turned his way at his rather loud entrance, 'and good evening to all of you.' He nodded and stepped forward. 'If I could beg for a place to stand by the fire - no don't worry about getting me a chair, I can stand. A mug of ale would be possitively marvelous, however.' He paused mid stride to thrust his hand in his pocket and drew forth a silver coin.

'Who can I ask for the drink, and pay?' he questioned, glancing around. Carr Dagnysson came forward, and the new comer broke into a grin. 'Here you are my man, run off and get that foaming pint. Thank'ee, thank'ee.'

He continued his march to the edge of the fire and squeezed into an unoccupied space. To his nearest neighbor, he turned and stuck out his hand. 'Berrick Andrail, at your service.'

[piosenniel]

The bang of the Green Man’s front door echoed into the inn’s back yard. From his cozy resting place, the wren raised his head and looked about. ‘Is it spring already?’ he asked in a raspy voice. ‘Is that the ice on the river breaking up?’ A cold breeze blew round the little pile of straw bringing with it a few flakes of snow. He shivered and tucked his head back beneath his wing.

‘Good story!’ came his further, muffled comments. ‘I say Owl,’ he said, daring to poke his head out once more. ‘Now, isn’t it your turn for a story in return? Make it a good one . . . ‘bout us birds.’ He tucked his head again beneath his wing, his ears open for Owl’s deep voice to begin.

[Celuien]

Few of the revelers noted the entrance of a tall, gray-cloaked form that stole softly into the Green Man Free House. Slipping through the shadows cast by the blazing Yule log, he moved to a quiet corner near the fireplace and stared at the flames, as if lost in thought. The light shone warmly on his weather-beaten hood, but could not reveal his face beneath its deep folds.

Cheers and laughter echoed through the Inn, and out of the din rose the call for a new story. "Another tale! Another!" And one of the Hobbits spotted the stranger. "Tell us a story,' he cried. "By your looks, you should know a few."

A hush fell over the room. The stranger's voice, clear and low, rang out in the quiet. "If you wish. Of ancient deeds it tells, though the end is still not known." He leaned forward into the light.

Long ago, the Noldor, led by Fëanor, greatest of craftsmen, came to Middle-earth in exile from Valinor. And there was strife amongst the Elves, and many parted in bitterness and anger. And some few, weary of discord, forsook the Princes of the Noldor and went out into the wild, seeking refuge from the evils of the day.

And so it came to pass that a small band of the Noldor came into Ossiriand, and there they settled and built a hidden fastness amidst the forest. With them went a great treasure, whose memory has been lost even to song; two Lamps, effigies of the Two Trees of Valinor, wrought by the hand of Fëanor himself ere the making of the Silmarils. They were borne by Túrwaith, once a great friend to the House of Fëanor, for he had received them as a gift in Valinor. And though he had parted from Fëanor in anger at Alqualondë, he still kept the Lamps in token of their friendship in better times, and perhaps in hope that things should be put to rights one day. And in the hidden citadel, the Lamps were kindled in memory of Telperion and of Laurelin, and the Eldar rejoiced, for there was peace.

Yet it was not fated that they should remain forever in quiet. For out of the North came a host of Orcs and foul creatures of Morgoth, and they were besieged. And the Light of the Lamps failed with the last stores of oil, and darkness fell.

And lo! Túrwaith came forth. And he sang a song of Light, and of the Two Trees, and of Valinor ere the evil of Morgoth came. And the Lamps blazed forth again. And then the hearts of the Elves were filled with wonder; and they were glad, for their foes fell back in fear at the coming of the Light, and the forces of the Eldar issued forth in pursuit. But all in vain. For from behind the Orcs, a new terror appeared; a Balrog, surrounded by shadow. Undaunted, it strode forward. But the Lamps shone still, a beacon of light in the growing dark. And the Balrog drew forth a vast, cruelly spiked mace. It shattered upon the Lamps, and their Light was extinguished. Túrwaith fell. And then the Orcs poured back upon the Elves, and many were slain, and their fortress was razed to the ground.

Yet Túrwaith lived. And he gathered together the fragments of the Lamps and journeyed onward, wandering alone in the wilderness until the Ban should be lifted and he might return to Valinor.

The storyteller drew a deep breath. "That is as far as the tale goes."

More than one listener was skeptical. "There's nothing like that in the old lore. Where did you hear that story?"

"A tale may not be known, yet still be true," he cried. Then he stood and cast back his cloak. "Behold!" He held forward his hand. The shards of two fair Lamps, one of silver and the other of gold, glistened in his palm. As a murmur passed through the room, he drew his cloak about him again and sat down. "For I am Túrwaith, and the tale I told even as it happened."

Wenda looked at him thoughtfully. "Where are you going now?" she asked, though she felt she already knew the answer.

Túrwaith turned toward her. "To the Havens," he replied, and fell into silence.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Owl turned towards the wren and smiled. He was happy to see that the little one had recuperated from his wild escapades earlier that evening.

"Yes, perhaps we do need another tale," noted Owl, puffing out his chest and trying to look official. "I might be persuaded to say a word of two. These fine loremasters have given us a story about the meekest and most timid creature. Surely I could add a word of two about the wisest of the wise: the Great Bird who was friend and counselor to a powerful wizard and shapeshifter. Although this wizard might not mention the fact, the Owl actually taught him all he knew about the secrets of wood lore and the ways of the beasts. Of course, I am alluding to my cousin Archimedes!"

For a long moment, there was silence....just a bit of wiggling and a cough or two. Owl was used to having his own way and, though many of the birds and beasts crowded around the circle had heard this story a dozen times before, no one wanted to object.

Everyone sat back and waited for the tale to begin, knowing it would likely take up the rest of the evening. But, before the snowy Owl could open his beak and say another word, a high pitched howl was heard from the other side of the yard. Owl's eyes darted up and he muttered sharp disapproval under his breath. On the top of the stony wall stood an inordinately large ball of fur with a long tail and piercing blue eyes, a gigantic cat whose coat looked like a white puff ball. Behind him were two of the rougher sort of tomcats, the kind that normally get chased away by men. The first was missing an ear and the second had a deep gash over his eye. At the sight of these three beasts, the four mice shrank back in terror, and the wren burrowed his head underneath the pile of leaves and twigs.

[littlemanpoet]

‘Did it follow you, lass?’ asked a Dwarf, drawing near to the table so as to hear the last of her words. ‘And the shadow you spoke of, could you tell if it followed after? And how far?’ He harumphed, suddenly aware of his forwardness and said, ‘Sorry to listen in, but I’m traveling further north once the snow lets up a little. There’s a small settlement of men just north of the withered heath I’ve some business with. Were you near there or passed through at all?’

'I was farther north,' Wenda said. 'Rófa and Réda are nimble pulling my sled. But yes, it did follow after. All the night I felt more than heard the unwight behind me. I tarried not but pushed on through dawn and well into day, and only when the sun was high almost to noon did I begin to feel as if I had outrun it. But the next night I could feel it again, though it seemed to be farther away. I felt its following last two nights ago.

'I fear it may have left its tusker corpse behind and chosen a human, for from a settlement I had passed late in the day, came toward dusk shivering screams to wake the --' her voice trailed off, unwilling she was to finish the thought. She looked up at the Dwarf's face. 'I hope that settlement was not the one you seek.'

[Koobdooga]

'Berrick Andrail, at your service.’

The voice was loud to his left, diverting his attention for the moment from his concerns.

Wenda had answered his questions as she could. Thanking her, Egil tucked away what he had gleaned from her news. He would have to think hard on his intention to head north to the village above the withered heath. If her words be true, and he thought they were from the fear he’d read in her eyes, then perhaps the village would no longer be there at all.

He shrugged off his dark thoughts for the moment. He was seeming safe here, in the Green Man, he reasoned. Its strong walls and bright fire would keep back those beasts, that being, he hoped, that Wenda had spoken of. That and the presence of a number of stalwart warriors it seemed were gathered for the while here.

‘Egil Glitterfist,’ he said, nodding to the man who had greeted him. He scooted over on the bench on which he sat. ‘There’s room, here. Come, sit down.’ He was amused that the man had stuck his hand out at him; it was not Dwarven custom to do so. But being a trader among a number of different races, Egil wiped his own hand quickly on the thigh of his breeches and offered it in turn to Berrick.

‘Pleased to meet you, Master Andrail! What business brings you to The Green Man, if you don’t mind my asking?’

[Envinyatar]

The two men stood up at the appearance of the cats. Stamo scooped up the cowering mice and put them in an inner pocket of his cape. The little wren followed soon after, taking his place in yet another compartment. Mori stepped forward as the other birds took flight, seeking perches beyond the reach of the three felines.

‘What brings you to the inn, Master . . . Cat?’ Mori asked, his gaze fixing on the large white feline. The others were tough looking brutes, but this one, he thought to himself was the thinker of the trio; the others his muscle. Though, looking at the size of him, he would hardly need such furred cronies to stand up for him. ‘We’re here enjoying the warmth of these embers and sharing a tale or two to pass the Yule. Did you and your . . . companions come to spin a story for us?’

Behind Mori, and a little to his right, Stamo stood artlessly alert, his staff gripped lightly in his left hand

[Arry]

Fear overcomes the Hobbit . . .

Madoc and Andwise came scuffing down the stairs to the common room, grumbling to each other all the way. ‘There he is,’ said Andwise, seeing Willem at the table with the Big Folk. ‘And old Mudfoot’s hounds take me if it’s not certain he’s had his breakfast already! And a substantial one by the size of the platter and the empty bread basket.’

Willem was caught up in the dire tales of Wenda and the man in the grey cloak. And spooked a bit by the presence of the man and woman who’d come to sit at his table. They seemed keenly interested in Wenda’s sightings, and he wondered what terrors they’d seen that lay behind their attentiveness. Goosebumps crept along his arms, and he shivered despite the warmth of the fire.

Imagine his shriek of fear and surprise as his two companions slid silently up behind him and poked him hard in the back with their hands, hissing at him as they did so. It echoed shrilly among the rafters as his imagination got the best of him, and he felt the wraith-like fingers of Wenda’s shadow creature pushing against him, reaching into his very being.

There was a loud thump as Willem, white as a ghost himself, slid from his chair in a dead faint . . .

[Tevildo]

The white cat leapt down from the wall and started to sharpen his claws against the stack of logs sitting on the far side of the yard. The cat's tail flicked menacingly from one side to the other, as he watched the four mice who had retreated under the skirts of the two-legged. Dare he bound out and have a bit of fun with those creatures? They looked so small and enticing, nothing like the powerful beast the man had described in his tale. Tevildo was not hungry but he dearly loved a game, especially one he was certain to win.

Jerked out of his reverie by the two-legged's question, the cat sat back and licked his whiskers as he considered his options. He loved both games and stories, but did not entirely trust the man. An odd memory tugged at the back of his mind. Still, that had been at least four lives ago, and he could not recall the details.

Trying not to notice two small mice who peered leerily out from under the man's robe, the white cat responded in a voice that was tinged with velvet, "I am Tevildo. Some have called me Prince of Cats, but you must judge that for yourself. I believe we have met somewhere before, but you must excuse me for I can not recall the circumstances. I was once a member of the entourage of the Black Foe. My duties were to hunt and snare, to keep the household supplied with meat. Perhaps it was there we met.

"As to stories.... all cats have many stories, since they spend most of their day dreaming. I have a number of delightful stories that I will be most happy to share with you and the rest of this gathering. But first, you must humor me for you have me at a disadvantage. I have told you who I am. Now, I should like to know who you are, you and your friend? Tevildo turned and nodded at the other two-legged. "Then I shall be most happy to tell you a tale I know, one that explains why cats are the most powerful creatures in the world, so powerful that they were chosen to teach the two-leggeds a much-needed lesson....."

[Envinyatar]

Stamo stepped forward, the end of his staff thumping on the frozen ground as he did so. His grey eyes narrowed at the cat. ‘Tevildo . . . and are these your faithful henchmen come with you, too?’

‘His color has changed, too. Did you notice, Stamo? Black to white.’ Mori craned his head for a better view of the cat. ‘And lost your gold collar. Or did your Master take it from you when he threw you out?’

Mori had picked up his staff from the ground and stood leaning on it. ‘Well, then, our names. We are travelers from afar, going eastward – Morinehtar, I am called. And my companion, Romestamo.’

‘We are our master’s hounds,’ Stamo murmured. ‘And we are hunting . . .’

‘But come, Master Cat, tell your tale. Your audience is waiting.’ Mori stepped back, leaving a wide space for Tevildo and his ragged companions.

[Huan]

Birger moved about the tables as quiet and quick as a winter hare among frozen clumps of grass. His ears, too, were as keen as a hare’s, picking up bits of stories and gossip and news as he flitted in and then way from the elbows of the guests as they rested on the table tops. He smiled to himself, wriggling in anticipation of telling Carr the snippets he’d gathered along with the dirty dishes and mugs.

He hadn’t quite understood what the man and woman had said about the creature in Wenda’s story. But Carr was a sharp man, despite the fact the years were battering against him. He’d know how to untangle their words and tell it plain to Birger.

His tray was full; the last platter he’d gathered had been the one from the Halfling. Clean as a whistle, it was, and the basket of buns empty, too. Birger was just heading toward the kitchen when the piercing shriek froze him in his tracks. He turned quickly, the tableware and crockery stacked on his tray clinking loudly against each other.

The Halfling was lying on the floor limp as an old rag. Birger had seen things of this sort before. But mostly it was a local man with too much ale under his belt. He put down his tray and ran to the fellow’s side. ‘Someone get cook and her smelling salts,’ he said, kneeling by Willem. Birger grabbed hold of the Halfling’s arm and shook it energetically as he called loudly.

‘Sir! Sir! Wake up!’

[piosenniel]

Wren peeked out of the man’s pocket; his little black eyes fixed on the three cats. Tevildo had a cocky manner; not that all cats the bird had met were any less conceited, but this one seemed more so than most. Prince of Cats? And what was that he was saying to the man – that he had once been part of the entourage of someone called The Black Foe.

The small brown bird perched on the edge of Stamo’s pocket then flitted up to the man’s shoulder, near his ear. ‘Most powerful creatures, indeed!’ the bird snorted, bobbing up and down on his spindly legs in irritation at the feline’s arrogance. ‘You’ve got a nice thick stick, Man,’ he whispered, his beak close to Stamo’s ear. ‘Just smack the furry braggart and send him flying!’

[Tevildo]

Tevildo had not meant to say anything outrageous, but the last outburst from the wren had tried his patience to the utmost. His back arched and his fur stood on end as he spat out a reply to the small bird, "You impudent bag of feathers! One more squeak out of you, and you'll be sorry you ever came here tonight...."

"As for you," Tevildo snorted and barrelled on, glaring at Stamo and Mori. "I wouldn't be so free with my insults or that stick. The last time we met, you both looked considerably better than you do now. I can only assume that you've angered your masters and have been sent here in these puny guises as a form of punishment! I may have lost my golden collar, it is true, but at least I haven't been reduced to your dire straits...."

Once the cat had regained his composure, his voice took a softer turn. He decided to try and wheedle his way back into the good graces of the assembled company. "But I am not myself today. Perhaps I have been too harsh. You two may have met with hard times. I am no stranger to hard times. And the bird is such a little thing. She probably does not know the proper way to treat a guest. I will withdraw my hard words if you would like to hear my story. It is one that may be of special interest to those who go about on two legs. It came from the Age that saw the birth of Man and says much about the nature of the second born. It concerns a little bargain that my master Melko made with Lord Manwe, and my own part in this affair."

Tevildo looked up at the two-leggeds in a pleasant way and then bowed to the snowy owl. "Ah, well, perhaps my humble proposal does not meet with your approval. If so, my friends and I will quietly withdraw from the warmth of the fire and go off into the dark woods by ourselves to face the cold air and the dangers of the night. What shall it be then, good brethren, a fine story or my departure?"

[Envinyatar]

The hmmmph! from the wren was cut off as Stamo plucked him from his shoulder and held him up to his face. ‘Hush!’ he whispered letting the bird balance on his finger. ‘The Green Man’s ale has made you bold, and we will not always be near to act as your protectors.

And besides,’ Mori interjected, speaking to both his companion and the wren. ‘This is a special set of days in this part of Middle-earth, or so I am given to believe by what’s been told to me. There is a truce of sorts in effect, enmities are put aside for this short while, and tolerance come to the fore.’ He turned back to where Tevildo and his friends were standing. ‘Your pardon, please. We’ve been less than welcoming. Come, sit near the coals and warm yourselves. And then, of course, your story, please.’

The poor wren was beginning to shiver in the cold, and Stamo tucked him back inside a pocket in his cape. There were a string of short exclamations, muffled by the thick wool of the cape. And just as well . . . Stamo could just make out another hmmph! and a mumbled sore losers! followed by whiner!.

Luckily, for the peace of the gathering and the sake of a tale yet to be told, Stamo’s body heat and the soft, thick warmth of the pocket overcame the wren’s feisty attitude. Soon, the only sounds escaping from the folds of the robe were that unmistakable sounds of the bird’s beaky snore.

[Folwren]

Berrick waited half a second before sitting in the place that the dwarf made for him. He paused in answering Egil's question as his eyes drifted over the gathered company, and then - just before he could actually make any sort of reply to his inquiry - one of the hobbits (joined at that instant by another two of his kind) suddenly let out a horrific shriek and went surprisingly limp.

Berrick blinked and then chuckled quietly and turned to the dwarf. Others had already gone to the fainted Halfing's side and were attempting to revive him.

'I am merely traveling,' he said, 'and in such freezing weather, any shelter is a welcome sight. I'll likely be on my way tomorrow. . .or sometime.

'But these tales being told are very intereting,' he went on, turning to look at the figure in the grey cloak. 'I do not know much about the history of the lands Northward, nor much doings of the elves. . .I come from farther south, but we have our tales. Let me think of one that might interest you.'

He fell silent and lowered his eyes to think. . .

[Folwren]

After some little time, Berrick lifted his head again. 'Aha!' he cried. 'I've got one. It may or may not be true, don't ask me to verify it, for my Uncle told it me. I won't deny, though, that he didn't tell me many a tall tale in my younger days. This was one of his more serious ones, though, and it's not easily forgotten. . .'

It happened in the Autumn of that year when my Uncle was practically a boy - no older than twenty-four summers - that he got word that the Silver Fox had been seen roaming the Grey Wood. Well, my Uncle lost no time in getting a horse and going off to find the fo. He and two companions rode off together.

Days passed, and still no sign of the Silver Fox was seen. My Uncle’s companions gave up the chase and returned home. They laughed at my Uncle’s persistence and told him he’d do better to go home and hunt for eggs.

My Uncle Brimbor paid no ear to their jeering and when they’d gone, he continued his hunt. That very afternoon he scared up the fox out of hiding and cross country he led my Uncle and did his best to loose him, but Uncle Brimbor had a fine horse beneath him and they kept to the fox’s heels until the little animal was caught and cornered in a bay of rock with only one entrance.

“Very well, you have trapped me,” the Silver Fox panted, turning around to face him. His tail drooped and rested on the ground and his eyes were sad. “But it would have been better for you had you not. For the last treasure is at the foot of the Mountains and guarded by a black demon named Gorlab. I would not go there, if I were you.”

But my Uncle cared nothing of some rumored demon and his eyes glowed with the thought of treasure. So the Silver Fox told him where to go and how to find the place of the treasure and Uncle Brimbor left him. He returned home and got his two friends and together, they rode off to find this treasure.

After three days journey, they came finally to the place the fox’s directions led them. It was a rocky, dim, and gloomy cleft at the bottom of a tall Mountain. The three companions dismounted and led their horses over the broken and rocky ground. The air was hot and still and suffocation, but the three young men seemed not to care. Their minds were on the treasure waiting for them.

As they passed up through this narrow gorge, they saw ahead a bridge or arch of stone cross over their path. They stopped before it and looked up. On it, words were inscribed of many tongues, old and new. They read in the language they knew:

“Stranger, past this place, your life is forfeit. Take one step further, and you shall go no farther.”

“Twas a witty fellow who wrote that,” my Uncle’s companions said. “But it’s nothing but a pack of fairy tales. There’s nothing ahead as far as I can see that would harm anyone.” Indeed, it certainly looked that way, for beyond the arch, the way grew less rocky and there were green plants growing. But no sooner were those words out of the young man’s mouth that Uncle Brimbor’s horse began to rear and plunge and try to get back. It dragged Uncle Brimbor back away from the arch in his attempt to hold him, but it finally broke loose and bolted off. My Uncle’s companions laughed and mounted their horses.

“We’ll wait for you at the treasure,” they called to him, and urged their horses forward under the stone gateway. As soon as their horses’ fore hooves touched the shadow cast by the stone, a great, pitch black cloud rose from the ground.

Uncle Brimbor could later remember no definite shape the black thing took, but such terror flowed from it that he cowered back against the stone walls of the gorge and covered his face. He heard the horrible sound of two horses screaming, and a great yell from one of his companions - but then there was utter and complete silence.

After a long time, he ventured to open his hands and look. There was the arch, and there was the grim writing but no where did he see a trace of that terrible black shadow, nor of his two companions and their horses.

My Uncle went home and told people of his adventures, but few believed him. However, it could not be denied that his two friends were missing. . .and that they were never found or heard of again.

[Arry]

‘It’s alright, boy,’ said Andwise to Birger. ‘He has a weak constitution when it comes to ghostie tales and such. Here, let us rouse him.’

Madoc grabbed the bun and cheese Willem had left on the table and waved it back and forth beneath his companion’s nose. Andwise raised the stricken Hobbit’s head a bit, saying all the while to him, ‘Come now! The Inn’s cat is about to make off with the last of your breakfast. Best get up and make a stand!’

There were faint groans as Willem roused himself, grabbing the cheese-filled bun from Madoc. ‘Cat, my . . .’ His voice trailed off, remembering he was not at home, nor in the company only of his brothers. The blood had returned to his head now and he blushed. Andwise and Madoc leveraged him up to his chair and shoved a hot cup of tea in front of him that Birger had brought, laced with a strong spirit. ‘That should put the starch in your backbone,’ Andwise remarked, sniffing the cup as he passed it to his brother.

[Koobdooga]

‘A good story, Master Andrail!’ Egil chuckled and shook his head, drawing some curious stares from those who’d been listening to the man’s tale. ‘Oh no, ‘ he said, ‘it’s not that I’m thinking the tale was in the least funny. It was chilling, to be sure. And especially in light of the other news those gathered here have brought.’ He chuckled again. ‘It’s just that I never held much with horses. Always thought them devilish beasts – too big, too ornery. But I must say, the one your Uncle Brimbor rode appeared the most intelligent creature in that party. And, well, I never thought to hear my self say that of such a beast!’

Egil called the server over and had his and Berrick’s cups refilled. ‘You said you might be leaving tomorrow, Master Andrail. I was thinking of heading out then, myself.’ He paused and took a drink, collecting his thoughts. 'I was going northward, but the news I’ve heard of doings there makes me think I ought to take another direction. If you don’t mind my asking, will you be heading back south? Or west, perhaps? And if so, would you like a traveling companion? I’m a fair fighter with my ax. And two to keep watch at night would give more sleep. But think it over, think it over. I don’t mean to pressure you . . . naught but an offer on my part.’

[Tevildo]

Pleased that he would be able to show off in front of the guests, Tevildo waited for the animals to be silent and then began to speak....

"In the First Age of Arda in the far eastern land of Hildórien, the Secondborn Children arose. Now many of the Vala were taken with these upstarts and believed they could do no wrong. Only Melko could see and understand the true state of things. He was impatient with the slow designs of the Music and warned the others that no good would come from the Aftercomers. Yet Manwe and the others paid no heed to his warning, but unwisely shut him out from the company.

Now, even in those earliest days, the Apanónar took great delight in themselves and often acted as if they were masters of all of Arda, though we all know this is definitely not true. And some of their number were so full of themselves that they decided to follow the course of the Sun and began journeying towards the West. Seeing the Secondborn Children struggling along the road, that busybody Varda decided to try and help, for the earliest Men did a very poor job of hunting and were constantly in need of food. It is also said that these Men were lonely and cried out for a companion.

And Varda travelled to the Secondborn in disguise and she brought with her a pack of giant hounds and made a gift of them to the leaders of Men. And she said these words to the Men: "Here is a companion who will be with you forever. These hounds will be a reflection of my love for you. Regardless of how selfish and childish and unloveable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do. And the hounds were pleased to be with the Men and wagged their tails in approval.

Now, when the wise Melko saw all this, he was sore distressed. For he knew what would happen. And he warned the others but they did not heed him. But one day Varda went again to the camps of the Men and what she saw filled her heart with sadness. The Men had all become filled with pride. Each one strutted and preened like a peacock and believed himself worthy of the rule of Arda. For every day the Dogs looked into the eyes of men and told them they were worthy of honor, and the foolish Secondborn Children believed this lie.

Varda did not know what to do to correct her mistake, and even Manwe was upset to hear what had happened. Finally, in desperation, the couple turned to Melko for help."

Cat stood up and pranced about the firepit, looking each of the animals directly in the eye. "And now, my friends, before I go any further, does anyone in this fine circle know whom Melko called upon to correct Varda's terrible mistake?" Tevildo glanced from one animal to the next and waited for someone to speak.

[Nerindel]

After hearing Wenda’s words regarding the unwight and as Maranwe had moved to listen to a tall grey-clad stranger who spoke of elves and battles gone by, Arato had slipped into thoughtful contemplation. The young woman’s words had troubled him as he was reminded of the same sense of some evil he had felt the previous night in the woodland just above the sleepy village, but as he chewed on the tip if his pipe, idly watching the flames lick hungrily at the Yule log, he reminded himself that whatever it was had not been as deathly silent as the unwight Wenda had described, no it had whispered of evil intent and tried hard to disguise it’s raspy hiss against the wind. His Gaze shifted momentarily to the shuttered window’s as they again rattled in response to the harsh winter winds outside.

The journey had been long, he was tired and near exhaustion in mind as well as body. He admitted as much to himself, although reluctantly, as he turned back to the fire. Perhaps in chasing shadows as long as he had he now expected them at every turn and was now seeing them where there were none to be seen, but there was no denying that wherever he went trouble seemed to find him. He seemed to drew them like moths to a flame, it was his curse and as yet he had allowed himself no rest from insuring that such creatures where returned to the void. It was a simple choice really them or him and like most he valued life especially his own.

Mara was right whatever it was, if indeed it was anything more than the harsh wind‘s call, it could wait and if it became over bold and looked for trouble he would be right here waiting to oblige! With an assured grin of satisfaction , he relit his piped and turned back to see what new tales where being recounted.

As it was he had rejoined the group as a new stranger was recounting to the dwarf a tale his uncle had once recounted to him, Arato listened with interest and even allowed himself to grin with mild amusement at the clever cunning of the fox . Not only had it managed to barter it’s freedom with it’s knowledge but also sought away of ridding itself of it’s pursuers possible for good. “A foe not to be taken lightly” he chuckled to himself. But his mood again grew sombre as the story turned the way he knew it must with death. He could fight monsters and vanquish demons, but the subtle evils that Melkor left behind to tempt and corrupted the hearts of all races he could not prevent. Each have to face that demon alone and only the strong of heart and mind can resist such manipulations, in the end greed had been their undoing.


‘You said you might be leaving tomorrow, Master Andrail. I was thinking of heading out then, myself.’ He paused and took a drink, collecting his thoughts. 'I was going northward, but the news I’ve heard of doings there makes me think I ought to take another direction. If you don’t mind my asking, will you be heading back south? Or west, perhaps? And if so, would you like a travelling companion? I’m a fair fighter with my axe. And two to keep watch at night would give more sleep. But think it over, think it over. I don’t mean to pressure you . . . naught but an offer on my part.’ the Dwarf was saying to his companion as Arato again resurfaced from his thoughts.

“If it’s west you go I’d be wary of the Mirkwood, elves protect those woods and a dwarf and his axe might not be too welcome,” Arato warned taking in the dwarves fine blade. “I’d keep to the road if I were you and tarry not. It is also said that dark things have made their home in the southern eaves of the forest, In fact this very morning I heard a chilling tale,|” he pause removing his pipe and taking a draw of his mead, both to wet his throat and to ensure he had the attention of both men and anyone else who wished to listen, then he began.

‘Three companions disturbed by news of strange disappearances in southern Mirkwood, decided perhaps a little too foolhardy to go and see for themselves what was going on. They searched for days and days for signs of those said to have gone missing but found nothing and were beginning to think nothing that had happened to them and that the missing had simply gone off wandering without telling anyone, or perhaps even decided to seek out new havens and didn’t know how to say good bye.

But sanding in a small clearing one of them suddenly noticed that the sway of the tree’s was moving against the wind and not with it. Unnerved by this and realising that something was not quite right they began to cautiously back out of the clearing, their eyes searching carefully for what could be causing such a strange phenomena to occur.

That’s when it began, a click, click, clicking sound , quietly at first, but growing louder and louder as it came closer and closer, quickly it came causing the third companion to panic and run off in fright straight into a huge sticky silvery web that hung between two tall trees, it held him fast and the more he struggled the more entangled he became . Quickly The second companion attempted to calm him down and cut him free, while the first companion kept watch just out of sight. His hands trembling as he knocked an arrow in his bow and listened fearfully as the clicking grew closer and closer. Then suddenly stopped, he looked around his heart beating fast as he expected an attack at any moment, but it didn’t come.

“I think it’s gone!” he cried back to his friends after a while.

“Let‘s hope so!” the second called back, as the third finally fell free from the sticky trap. “Right he’s free lets get out of here!” the second called back, but her words were lost to a blood curdling scream that they both recognised at once. They both rushed to the spot where their friend had stood watch, but there was no sign of him, both he and the clicking sound had vanished .

Off course they searched for him but found nothing but more webs and the bones of unfortunate souls who had been caught in the traps and been unable to free themselves. Then with the coming of night the clicking return and fearful the two companions fled to tell others of what they had seen and to warn them if they could.

“So from them I warn you be wary of the Mirkwoods!” he whispered leaning in close for emphasis and if he was honest to gain a little dramatic effect.

Off course the story was an adaptation of the news Mara had brought and she would no doubt pull him up on it later, but if it cautioned at least these two be wary, when travelling through the woods what harm was in it and if he was lucky these two would carry the warning to others with half an ear to listen.

[Rose]

Tevildo is asked to continue

The old inn hound raised himself up from the ragged blanket that served as his bed. That is his hindquarters stayed sprawled on the ground while his head and chest rose up. He was half blind, his old eyes cloudy and the drooping ear he’d raised a hind leg to scratch at was notched from any number of skirmishes.

‘Speak up, cat!’ he growled. The muffled voices and smells from the gathering in the little courtyard had intruded on his dozing. At first only waking him fitfully. It was the voice of the cat that woke him fully. Some story the feline was spinning. And what was all that about hounds and men turning bad. He hadn’t caught it all, but he was sure the puffed up, self-important cat was telling lies.

Sneaky critters – butter you up on the one side, rub on you like you were their best friend, and the next their claws and teeth’d be in you.

‘G’wan . . . tell us the rest of your story.’ He gave a wheezy laugh. ‘And I’m just thinking you’re going to be telling us it was you as was asked to help out.’

[Undómë]

Goody sat hunched forward on her chair, staring into the fire. Her eyes drifted down the log, noting how much there was still to burn. She stirred her old bones, sitting up as straight as they’d allow, and looked about the room. Her eyes lit on a familiar face.

‘Birger! Come here, boy,’ she called. ‘Going to be needing more holly for the fire. Got to keep the log here burning. Take your saw out and gather us some, won’t you? A little rowan and yew make for a good blaze, too.’ She eyed the boy, stopping to consider the stories he’d most likely heard from the guests in the Inn. ‘Best you be leaving while there’s plenty of light. Take the dogs with you, why don’t you.’ She raised her voice a little so that those nearby could hear her.

‘Any of you good sirs be willing to lend Birger a hand? Many hands make light work,’ she cackled, trailing off as her gaze drew back to the coals that glowed red and shimmered beneath the log.

‘Carr!’ she called out, hearing his shuffling step somewhere behind her. ‘Who’s gone to fetch the boar for the feast?’ she asked. ‘Be a good night tonight for a fine, fat pig, it would.’ She smacked her lips a little, thinking of the cracklings, dripping with grease. ‘Heard the animals were gathering in the courtyard . . . best the boar be a big one, so’s they can have a bite, eh.’ She rocked a little, back and forth in her chair, humming some tune for a short while, then fell quiet.

[Nerindel]

"I'll go with the lad." Mara spoke up, thinking on Arato's uneasiness in the woods the night before, but she let little of her concern show on her face as she rose.

"That is unless of course you feel a mans company would offer more reassurance?" she grinned, a light of mild amusement reaching her bright eyes as she spoke, noting the lad glace uncertainly from her to the table's of strong looking men seated around the inn.

"Ai you needn't worry lad," Arato laughed, slapping the lad jovially on the shoulder. "Trained by elves that one, silent as a shadow and as fierce as a bear, no better woods woman this side of the iron mountains, I'll wager. She'll see you right lad." he grinned in a kindly assuring manner.

Mara nodded humbly at her friends kind praise, then turning back to the lad she patiently awaited his decision as to weather or not he would accept her offer of accompaniment and help in the task set him on this bitter chill afternoon.

[Huan]

Birger let out his breath in a whoosh, relieved he would not have to face the suddenly ominous woods alone. And yes he might have liked one of the men to come along, but he thought the woman looked able enough. More able than me! he thought in a passing moment of grim humor. Wouldn’t be more’n a mouthful for them creatures they were talking ‘bout.

‘You’ll do fine, m’am,’ he answered in a voice more bold than he felt. His fair cheeks reddened, hoping she did not take his acceptance of her offer as being too rude. Who was he to know her merits as a protector? His only skirmishes had been with crows he’d chased from the garden or the pup who’d got hold of Cook’s leg of lamb roast; his only weapons a little knife he used for whittling and perhaps the stick he used to move the goats out to a different patch of grass in summer.

Elf-trained, the man had called her. Strong as a bear. He sneaked a quick look at her. ‘Begging your pardon, m’am, but mayhap you want to . . . well . . . that, is . . . your dress, will it be warm enough for tramping about in the snow and such?’ He blushed again, this time a deep red, as red as her dress. It crept up from the collar of his tunic. He looked down hurriedly, examining the scuffed toes of his boots. Her hair had shone auburn where the firelight touched the curls and her green eyes were bright with amusement

‘I’ll just fetch my cloak and the saw and meet you at the gate in a little while with the hand cart,’ he stammered.

[littlemanpoet]

"A woods-woman, are you?" asked Wenda of the one called Mara. This Mara was fair to behold compared with herself, Wenda knew. Little matter that.

"Aye," Mara smiled. "You?"

"To the north I spend my days," Wenda replied. "Our paths have crossed not. At least, not in any ways you might expect."

Mara raised an eyebrow at Wenda's mysterious utterance, but smiled and said, "Nay, I think we have never met before."

"Good the day to you," Wenda offered, and Mara answered in like manner.

With that, Wenda donned her furs and hood and went out to feed and run her reindeer. North she went and was soon lost to sight. When the sun had set and Wenda had not returned, those who remained at the Green Man Free House wondered at her going north, as well as her failure to come back. 'Maybe she does not plan to come back to the warmth of the Yule log,' some said. 'And maybe worse,' others murmured, their eyes tending toward the closed and barred door.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo spun around and sneered back at the hound. "Perhaps I was personally asked to help out, or perhaps not. That is my little secret. But I can tell from the look on your face that you think my tale to be full of lies. Have it your way, Old Dog. Still, I swear my tale is true. For 'twas not only Melko who gave the order, but Lord Manwe and even the High Lord himself."

"Melko had thought long and hard on the words and tears of Varda. If truth be told, the Dark Lord had a soft spot in his heart for the Queen of Heaven and, though she could be very foolish at times, she was also very beautiful. And he came to her one morning at dawn carrying a heavy basket. And inside, nestled under a woolen blanket, was the sound of gentle "meows" coming from a whole litter of kittens. And whether I was in that basket or not, I shall not tell the likes of you.

But Melko said these words to Varda, 'It is not good that Man should be so proud. Truthfully, I have said this same thing to both Lord Eru and Manwe, yet neither of them would give me the time of day. So they will reap a bitter harvest. Man's pride will bring bitterness to Arda. And yet I do have a special gift here: a precious thing that will help to forestall the day when Man will think that he rules over all.'

Varda peeped inside the basket, but all she could see were soft bundles of fur. 'I do not understand. How could these little creatures stand against Man?'

'Take this basket now, and give it to your husband, for he will understand my meaning.'

Then Varda did as she was bid, and Manwe peered inside the basket. And, seeing the cats, he sighed and shook his head, 'It is bitter for me to admit this, but the Foe may be right.' He scooped up the kittens and ventured high on Taniquetil, even into the sacred grove where the presence of Eru dwelled. And the next day Manwe came down, carrying the kittens under his arm, and a mighty decree went forth.

'So shall it be. The Dog may stay with Man and look upon him with adoration. He may teach Man he is loved, but so too shall the Cat be near. For Man is filled with pride. He struts and preens like a peacock. He must learn some humility. The Cat shall also be Man's companion from now till the end of time. He will be with him forever and see him as he really is. He will remind him of his limitations, so Man will know that he is not worthy of adoration. And that lesson, too, is valuable.'

So Manwe gave Cat to Man, and Cat would not obey Man. And when Man gazed into Cat's eyes, he was reminded that he was not the supreme being. And Man learned a little humility. Manwe was pleased, and even the distant Eru. And Man was slightly improved. And Cat did not care one way or the other......'

Tevildo sat down and went back to preening his fur.

[Nerindel]

As Maranwe climbed the stairs to her room, she pondered thoughtfully Wenda’s mysterious words, guessing at what she could have meant by them. But by the time she reached the door to her room she had given up, thinking that perhaps some things where best left a mystery. Pushing open the door and not taking the time to look around, she strode straight over to the cot at the far end of the room, dumped her pack on the straw filled mattress and pulled out a pair of dark brown pants and a heavy rustic brown tunic.

She pulled off the festive gown which the young lad Birger had quiet astutely realised may not be suitable for both the weather out and the task at hand, though he had been a little abashed in saying so. She laughed lightly recalling the lads deep crimson cheeks as she pulled off the under skirts, recalling also with an ounce sympathy his eagerness to remove himself and get the things they would require.

So as not to keep him waiting long in the cold she quickly pulled on her tunic, pants and boots, lacing them up carefully so as not to dislodge the dragon bone daggers concealed in each one. Strapping on her belt she tuck a small wood axe and a hunters knife into it, then grabbing up a well weathered dark grey cloak she hurried out of the room and bounded down the stairs, eager to again breath in the refreshing chill winters air.

Birger was waiting as he said he would by the gate at the far side of the courtyard, he waved to her as she stepped out of the green man, she smiled and waved back stopping momentarily as she caught sight of the small gathering of birds and beast’s huddled by a small fire for warmth as the old woman had said they would be. ’but she said nothing of the two gentlemen keeping them company’ she mused, smiling and nodding politely in the direction of the small gathering as she moved on.

“Well It look’s like we’re all set!” she smiled looking over the small hand cart, “Shall we?” she continued opening the gate to allow Birger to led the way.

“my name is Maranwe, But you may call me Mara if it’s easier,” she added as she closed the gate behind them.

[Folwren]

Berrick paused in answering the Dwarf's offer as he listened to the story told of the dark forest bearing the name Mirkwood. When the strange tale was told, he couldn’t say that he felt particularly fond of the idea of passing through there. But then, he never really had intended to. He turned towards Egil Glitterfist.

‘I really do not know in which direction I am going,’ he said. ‘I took to traveling half a year ago, and since have traveled far towards the East and Northward, and so end here, having starting from the Southern part of Gondor. I would be happy for you company, and will travel in which ever direction you choose. I had intended taking a westward route from here and going above the said Mirkwood and then heading south again, towards the mountains. However, should you wish to go directly south from here, I’ll make no complaint. I’ve traveled too long on my own and am quite willing to have a companion.’

He smiled and thrust his feet out under the table and leaned back against the wall. ‘Stars and stirrups, though,’ he added, somewhat sleepily, ‘it is nice to be within four thick walls and away from all that snow and wind.’

[Huan]

‘Yes, m’am. Mistress Mara . . . m’am.’ Birger hauled the handcart through the gate and walked slowly while Mara latched the gate and caught up to him. ‘The holly grove’s about a half league from here.’ His chin jutted toward the patch of forest to the northeast of The Green Man. ‘Won’t take us too long to get there. Old Goody be wanting some rowan wood, too. Now that’s a bit farther on.’

He looked at the position of the weak sun and narrowed his eyes as he looked toward the forest that hemmed in the long thrusting foothills a ways away. ‘See those firs just edging up the hills? The yew grow just in front of them. Special trees, the yews are. They stand between life and death, so I heard tell; hold back evil, my gran used to say.’

Birger picked up his pace, knowing that Mara could easily keep up with him. ‘Best we get the yew first – it’s tough wood, you know. Take the longest to saw. We’ll work our way back from there.’

The two trudged along in silence for a while before Birger got up the courage to speak again. ‘The man back there at the Green Man,’ he began. ‘He said you were trained by Elves.’ Now Birger had heard about Elves from other travelers to the Inn, and he wished mightily to meet one. And if he couldn’t meet one, he wanted to know as much about them as he could. ‘What were they like, m’am . . . those Elves?’

[Rose]

White Paw follows after Mara and Birger

The old wolf-hound lay down once again on his pile of rags, his patchy-haired belly turned toward the warmth of the glowing embers. He was just about to doze off when a cold wet nose snuffled him on his ear, followed by a few quick grooming licks. He growled deep in his throat, then raised himself, taking a long sniff at the intruder.

‘White Paw! Leave me be, won’t you, pup. I’ve just gotten comfortable.’

White Paw was two years old, full grown. A big hound, larger than his sire had ever been. There was wolf in his background, though many sires back. His mother had been part wolf, also, and he seemed to have inherited those wolfish looks from them untempered by the hunting hound that had frolicked somewhere back in the family line. He was a great beast of a dog, wolf to the core in abilities and looks . . . but not in temperament. He had a sweet disposition and was especially fond of the boy, Birger, who played with him as often as he could and brought him special treats.

‘I just wanted to let you know, pops,’ White Paw said, wagging his tail as he yapped at his father. ‘That the boy’s gone off with the cart and saw. To the woods. I’m going after him. Might need me I was thinking. There’s been some strange howling from the trees.’

The dog moved like a swift, dark shadow over the crusted snow. He made his way to the top of the wall and flew off in the direction that the woman and Birger had taken. His stride ate up the distance and soon he was close behind them. He yelped and barked as he drew near, announcing his presence on the adventure.

[Envinyatar]

Stamo’s eyes flashed with amusement at the preening cat’s story. ‘Well, well, I never heard that version . . . back home. But then, there are no cats there to tell it, as I can recall.’

‘More’s the pity,’ rumbled one of Tevildo’s companions, smiling in that particularly impish feline way. ‘Upgrade the place if you did have.” The three cats shared a laugh, though it sounded more like some smoke from the embers had gotten up their noses, making them sneeze and snort.

‘I think it best we leave before we do something foolish . . . and take up the gauntlet . . .’ Mori paused for a moment as the snorts and sneezes ran their course. ‘Or perhaps, before we take up the hairball . . . and try to put the felines in their proper place.’ He watched the cats as they worked themselves over with their long pink tongues. ‘If only Aiwendil were here – perhaps he would be more patient with their haughty attitudes.’

Mori turned to where the white owl was perched. ‘I think we two-leggeds will return to the common room for now. Sit near the fire, sip something warm.’ He gave a small bow to those gathered in the little courtyard. ‘We’ll have some foods sent out from the kitchen for you. And perhaps later, when the chill has left our limbs, we’ll come back to share another story with you.’

[Undómë]

The tall men had come back into the room. Shaking off the snow from their cloaks as ordinary men would do before they entered, stamping the slush from their boots on the rushy mats of the vestibule. And now they sat at their ease near the fire, drinking another cup of the warm wassail. Again, much as ordinary men would do.

Their boots had clopped solidly on the wooden floor when they walked she noted, but their footsteps, in her mind, trailed off to and from lands beyond her ken, she thought. And their eyes took in all with a considering look, as if weighing the scene and those involved in it in some hidden balance. She wondered if this little gathering was found wanting.

Goody felt a prickling on her scalp, and a sudden chill that trickled down her bent old back bone, though truth be told the chill was more of an excitement than a feeling of ill will. Some would say the Sight’s come on her. But Goody would laugh and poke fun at such nonsense. ‘Nothing but my years!’ she would cackle. ‘And I pays attention and remembers.’

She eyed the man nearest her as he bent forward to feed a stick of holly to the fire. Her old ears strained to hear the melody he seemed to hum. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, her curiosity roused at the unfamiliar tune. ‘Your tune – are there words to it?’

[Huan]

Birger’s eyes lit up as he heard the barking draw near. ‘White Paw!’ he called, dropping down to one knee in the snow. The dog put his front paws on the boy’s shoulders, nearly knocking Birger over as he licked the boy’s face. Birger stood, scooping up a large handful of snow as he did so. He made it into a hard snowball and threw it far in the direction he and Mara were moving. With a wolfish grin, White Paw chased after it.

‘My dog, Mara m’am,’ he explained brushing his hands off on his thighs. He thought she had looked a little concerned as the wolfish looking dog had bounded toward him. ‘Well, the Green Man’s dog, really. But I take care of him.’ He shaded his eyes, looking after dog who was now trotting back, snowball held delicately in his maw. ‘He’s my friend,’ he said, glancing up at her, to see how she would take this small confidence on his part.

They had come almost to the small stand of yew that stood all bare and twisty in a small fold of the long extending foothills. Birger hauled two a canvas slings from the back of the hand cart, handing one to Mara. ‘Looks like the wind and age has downed some branches. Let’s collect them in our slings first, then see if there’s any more need to be cut.’ He took stock of the trees, chewing on his bottom lip as he watched the breezes blow the snow on them about their crowns. They looked like those old ladies with the swirling white hair Goody sometimes talked about; the ones that danced beneath the moon to turn the seasons right.

White Paw had come to stand beside him, leaning just a little against his leg. ‘Think we’ll just pick up the blowed down branches today,’ he half whispered to the dog. ‘Wouldn’t be right to take axe or saw to such today, I’m thinking.’

[Envinyatar]

Mori smiled as he turned to the old woman. ‘Was I singing, Mistress Goody? Stamo often chides me for it. Though, usually I’ve no idea I’m doing it.’ He looked toward the floor, his mind recalling the notes he had been humming. ‘Ah, that one has no words.’ He looked toward Goody once again and hummed part of the interweaving melody. ‘Pretty isn’t it . . . and pleasing.’

The two men sat with the old woman as morning past into late afternoon. They spoke with her at times, in low voices. And of times she would be seen to nod at what they said, and at others she would shake her finger at them as if they had gotten something wrong. And she would speak, then, flicking her eyes briefly at times from the fire to the two men.

[Undómë]

At the insistence, the cajoling, of Mori and Stamo, Goody said she would eat a little soup with them and perhaps some of the cook’s soft bread to dip in it. She wasn’t hungry, really; she rarely was these days. And when she did manage to get something down, it made her nauseous. She managed a few spoonfuls of broth, pushing the vegetables and meat about with her spoon.

‘They should be back by now,’ she said, as Stamo finished his soup and sat back in his chair, his gaze on her. Goody picked at her piece of bread, dropping the bits into her bowl. ‘Birger. And the woman. They were going to collect some holly and rowan, too. For the fire. I shouldn’t have sent him for yew, too. Too far on these short days. Too far.’ She shivered, pushing her bowl away from her.

[Rose]

It was hunger, mostly that made White Paw begin to hurry his boy and the other along. While they had gathered branches at their various stops, the dog had gone out hunting. He was normally quite successful at nosing out the odd brave rabbit or even the less satisfying small mouse. He would hear their skittering footfalls as they tracked along the snowy crust and stalk them until he made his kill. But today the woods were unnaturally quiet, with only the fall of a clump of snow from some branch breaking the thick silence.

The two-foots were oblivious, it seemed.

Something seemed to press in upon the woods. Something waiting and watching. All the animals had gone to ground, and no solitary raven kaw’d from the trees.

Hunger turned to an uneasiness that prodded him to herd his charges home. A nip here at Birger’s ankles, a tug on the woman’s cloak. The sun was sinking well below the lower branches of the trees as the trio neared the gate to the village.

Behind them, in the darkening foothills a moaning cry rippled through the snowy firs . . .

[piosenniel]

One day ends and another begins . . .

‘Feathers and beak!’ squeaked the wren, raising his head from the dried sunflower head the lame man had left on the frozen ground for the birds. 'What was that?'

Corn, too, had been brought out for the mice and rabbits, bones with meat still clinging to them for the bigger animals. And bowls placed here and there of the fragrant soup the cook had made that day. It was Yule and the two-leggeds shared their food and warmth with the animals.

One of the crows, a raggedy bird in the wren’s opinion, sat high on the spine of The Green Man’s roof. ‘Don’t see nothing out there!’ he called down to the party below.

‘Well, of course, you don’t, you worm-brained croaker,’ the wren muttered around a mouthful of seed. ‘It’s dark! Bet you can’t see the end of your beak in this light.’ Wren hopped over to where owl was perched, neatly eating a piece of raw meat from one of the smaller bones. Owl had it grasped in his great talons and not a drop of blood got on his white feathers. Wren shuddered at the thought of having to hunt meat, much less let the cold, wet gobbets slide down his throat. Worse yet were his thoughts as he considered the sharp beak and strong talons of Owl. Given other circumstances it was just as likely Owl might find him a tasty, if small, beakful. He ruffled his feathers, shaking those thoughts from his mind.

‘Sounds like that other . . . well animal, or whatever it was last night, doesn’t it? Doesn’t seem to have come any closer,’ he went on, ‘though does it?’ He was trying to reassure himself without much success.

The boy who he’d seen before, emptying the slops pails, came out after the two-leggeds had their evening meal, carrying an armful of twigs and small branches, and two small wedges of oak. He built a small fire in the burning pit and stacked the oak together so that it would burn slowly. The young dog trotted alongside him, happy it seemed to be in the boy’s company. The boy brought the old hounds blankets closer to the fire and bade him lay down, giving him a bowl of hot mush with meat bits stirred in as the old fellow settled down on it.

When the boy had gone back in, the animals gathered in closer to the small blaze, turning rump and side and snout eagerly to the radiating warmth. Many of them muttered about the moaning wail, wondering how safe they were behind the think wooden fence that circled the town.

‘Better’n than we’d be each of us out there alone,’ said Wren. His belly was full now and he perched on the bare branch of one of the apple trees whose limbs were propped on the courtyard fence. The heat from the fire radiated up and around the Wren. Soon, he had tucked his head beneath his wing and dropped into slumber once again.

~*~

Next morning, early

The fire had burned down to a small heart of coals by the time the sun had risen. Wren spread his little wings and fluttered down to be closer to the warmth, he nodded to those were awake and those just opening their eyes to the morning’s light.

Taking a nose and tail count he saw that everyone had made it through the night. ‘Bless my beak!’ he said in a pleased voice. ‘We’re all still here! Now . . . where’s breakfast?’

[littlemanpoet]

The animals heard the clink of metal on metal and the brush of leather on everything else; they looked, sniffed, listened, and felt the air for what change the sounds brought.

It was the reindeer of that furrier woman, the one who always went north. The animals peered at the sled and saw (and smelled) the bunch of furs all ruffled up that they expected to see, which meant that the woman was huddled in the midst of them.

Only, when the reindeer came to a stop outside the Green Man, the woman did not rise and tether the deer to the pole. She didn't get up at all! The longer she stayed unmoving, the more curious the animals got, and the more their curiosity overcame their native fear, the closer they approached the sled, sniffing and pricking their ears and tails and readying their legs for running at the least provocation. Still the woman did not move.

Finally, old worm brain flew right down on the sled and peered in amongst the furs, then started moving the furs around with its beak. Soon, the furs were all strewn on the snow beside the sled, and there was no woman to be seen.

"Where is she?" asked the crow.

The reindeer looked back at the crow and said, "She drove us to a village up north away. She was walking about it when we heard all the sounds of wood and brush go quiet. Our feet wanted to run but we stayed and sniffed the air; we could smell nothing. Then we saw a shadow coming toward us. Our feet took us away back down paths our hooves knew, and here we are. We know not where the woman is."

The animals chattered about this news, drawing the interest of a soul or two in the Green Man.

[Nerindel]

Mara had slept fitfully, her rest broken by nightmares of shadow and death, many desperate soul shattering screams had intruded in her mind, feelings of pain and suffering had causing her to toss and turn and just as she thought she would scream out… nothing ! a silence so deathly still that it brought with it a feeling of great despair and sorrow. Only then had she awoken, her dark eyes filled with much grief and sorrow for as the second night of the Yule had passed undisturbed for those within the Green man and the village without, she alone of all of them knew that others somewhere had not fared as well!

A silver tear trickled down her pale cheek as she rose, walking over to the small north facing window she looked out at the dark silhouettes of the trees shadowed against the orange and pinks of the new dawn. She had sensed something out there, waiting and watching, White Paws, the dog had too! she knew by the way he had continually nipped the boy’s ankles and tugged on her cloak to hurried them on in their task. She had said nothing, Birger was but a boy and needed not to know of such things. She had hoped to share her misgivings with Arato only to find that by the time they had returned he had already alighted to bed.

However even as she studied the swaying of the distant trees she knew that what she had felt out there was not the thing of her dream’s, no the Evil in her dream had been filled with great anger and resentment and envied with evil intent those of flesh and blood, it looked for something or someone…something to make it…..!

She stopped in her thoughts rubbing at her right temple where a dull ache had begun to develop, as it always did when she ponder and examined long the content of her dream’s a side effect that she had long come accustom too but curse all the same.

A faint clink of metal made Mara suddenly look up ’that sound’ she thought ’I’ve heard it before’ In her dream, the memory of the pained screams had driven it from her mind but it was definitely one in the same. Looking down on the courtyard she saw the reindeer and their sledge, but no rider. She tilted her head slightly... she had seen those reindeer before, in the stable as she and Arato had arrived and the sledge too although it had not been hitched, though it had been filled with furs as it was now. In her mind she swept the common room of the inn recalling the faces of the previous morning, the Innkeeper, the boy, the old woman, the trio of hobbit’s, the dwarf, the elf and the tall man none of whom had looked like fur traders, then she remembered the young woman, fur boots and strange word’s. ’the hunter’ she thought suddenly turning from the window and hurriedly throwing back on the dark pants and rust tunic she had worn the night before, she was still pulling on her boots as she rushed downstairs and out into the courtyard.

Mara stopped realising that her sudden appearance had startled the small group of animals and birds that had gathered about the reindeer, a few others from the inn had also come out to see what was going on, the fur’s lay strewn on the ground about the sledge so they could all see that the rider was not lying injured on it’s boards.

‘Where do you suppose she is?’ someone whispered but Mara was barely listening she had slowly started moving towards the deer , Her eyes transfixed on the fear reflected in their dark glassy eyes, something had frightened them. ’enough that they may have left their rider behind?’ she wondered silently. Slowly reaching out her hand she gently stroked the side of the nearest ones face.

‘if only you could speak and tell us where you mistress is!” Mara whispered.

Suddenly one of the birds a small wren danced about her head chirping wildly, she looked up. ‘I’m sorry little friend, but I know not the old ways and understand not the language of the avian’ she smiled sympathetically. Turning back to the deer she wondered if perhaps checking the halters and the sledge would turn up any clues as to why it had returned rider less.

[littlemanpoet]

Mara and other curious guests at the Green Man milled about the reindeer and sledge, discussing the condition of the halters, furs, tack, and sledge itself, trying to read any indications as to what might have happened to Wenda. Most of the animals scuttled, fluttered, and skulked just out of reach of the humans. The dogs and cats trotted in and out between the legs of the humans, trying to make what they could of the smells, look, and sounds of things.

It was well past mid-morning when there came a strange sound from the nearby woods. The two reindeer started and looked wide-eyed for where the noise came from, then began to make the same sound themselves, filled with panic. Another reindeer broke out from the last outreachers of trees and ran full tilt toward the sledge. The humans backed away so as not to be in its path. It was going to crash into the two reindeer and sledge, but suddenly came to a stop not a pace from them. Its eyes were wide with fear. It nosed about in the furs, as if looking for something, or perhaps as if it was trying to hide amongst them; for it burrowed unsuccessfully into them, tripping over the sledge as it struggled. Finally it collapsed.

Then a gasp went up from the crowd. Before their eyes the new reindeer lost its fur. Its snout and horns receded. Its forelegs thickened and grew fingers where hooves had been. Its rear legs changed from hock to hip, the distance from ankle to hoof shrinking until they were human feet.

"Wenda!" Mara cried. She ran forward and helped Wenda cover herself in her furs. "What happened? Are you all right? What turned you into a reindeer?"

"Help me!" Wenda muttered. "It's hunting me! It's coming! It's coming!" She looked about herself wildly.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Where were those two-leggeds? The ones they had seen last night who could speak the tongue of the old ones.... Maybe they would be able to help.

The Great Owl flew up to the top branch of the oak and settled in, sounding out a warning to let the other creatures know that they must remain within the fence and not venture outside where shadows could be lurking. The Owl had no idea of what the hideous thing must be that had made the shapeshifter shriek in terror. Such beings had great and mysterious powers, a gift that nature had given to them. If the hideous shadow had made even the shapeshifter cower, how much more could that thing do to the birds and beasts who lived within the forest realm and on the wide adjoining plain?

Owl swooped down to sit on the fencepost to try and hear what was going on among the two-leggeds. Before he could make out anything of meaning in the babble of voices, he was surprised to see a large furry cat approaching him, the one from the night before who had recited the tale with such impudence and called himself Tevildo. The smugness was gone from Tevildo's face and, in its place, was a look of worry.

[Envinyatar]

It was the wren that pried them from their chairs. Stamo was drowsing, his chair tipped back against the table, his stockinged feet resting on a stool. A precarious perch at best as it turned out, as the little bird fluttered down on the man’s hair and began pulling at it. And all the while screeching, ‘Get up! Get up! Danger is near.’

Stamo’s eyes flew open and his arms windmilled in an effort to keep himself from falling backward as the table scooted backward from his sudden movements. With a yell, and launching his torso forward, he managed to right his chair.

‘Now what’s all this about danger,’ he growled, staring at the bird who had lit on the mantelpiece and was screeching.

Mori was already on his feet, his staff in hand. He nudged Stamo’s boots toward him and called to the bird. ‘Hush now! We’re going out.’ He reached out his long fingers and grasped the wren, placing him firmly on his shoulder. He picked up the grey shawl that hung on the back on Goody’s chair and placed it gently round her shoulders. ‘You mind the fire, Mistress. And we’ll mind to this.’

The little wren could not sit still, but flew before them, calling to the other animals as he went. When the two men entered the courtyard, they saw Mara comforting Wenda, and the animals huddling close in, inside the Inn’s fence. Stamo stepped back to hold open the door.

‘Bring her in,’ he urged Mara. ‘By the fire.’ He followed after ordering something hot for her to drinks. Broth and spirits – one for the body, the other to steady her nerves. He put his own thick cloak about her for extra warmth.

‘What can you tell us, Wenda?’ he asked her gently as she sipped from a steaming mug.

--------

Mori stood in the courtyard with the animals. The reindeer were still trembling, but it looked as if several of the Green Man’s workers were taking them in hand. Tevildo, he noted, was sidling up toward where the white owl was perched. Not with the intent of attacking him, it seemed, for there was an expression of deep worry on the feline’s face.

‘What do you know of this, Tevildo,’ the man asked, tapping his staff lightly on the frozen ground. ‘What attacked her? What does it want?’

We cannot help if we do not know what it is that approaches . . . he murmured quietly to himself.

[Tevildo]

"I can not say for sure. But I have seen things, great and terrible things when I dwelled in the household of Melko, that reminded me of what I have heard tonight." The cat stopped a moment, then sidled up close to the Owl and whispered, "We are not so different, you and I. We are creatures that must kill to live. It is our nature to do so, and I will not deny that the game gives me great pleasure at times. Yet I have no wish or ambition to put a blanket over the entire world, a shroud of darkness and evil. A bit of mischief in one corner is quite enough for me....."

"Still, that thing, whatever it is...." the cat stopped, shook his head and shuddered, and only then went on. "That cold, hollow ring in the shapeshifter's voice....it sends chills down my spine. Whatever that thing is out there, it is one of the creatures sent by the Lords of Darkness. Pehaps a spirit that has unwittingly escaped from the void or some leftover from the days of old: a houseless spirit, or some creature that has been trapped in the form of a vampire. I tell you that was no mere Man or even an Orc who frightened the woman, not on a night like this when the Yule Log glows bright. But perhaps if the woman regains her wits, she will be able to tell us more. Or perhaps you yourself know something of this." Tevildo glanced sideways at Mori. " For, despite your look of innocence and simplicity, I know you to have great knowledge of ancient lore. You may be able to sense more of these matters than even I can."

But before Mori could answer, Wenda showed signs of awakening.

[Nerindel]

"Help me!" Wenda muttered. "It's hunting me! It's coming! It's coming!"

At these words a dark cloud stole over Mara like a shroud and the ill winds of fate and prophecy that only she could feel swept coldly within her soul, but before she could ask Wenda more, ask her what it was that she thought was coming , a voice cut into her thoughts.

‘Bring her in, By the fire.’’ the voice was urging looking up she saw a tall man holding forth the door expectantly, regaining again her composure she nodded , gently scooping up the young hunter insuring to protect her modesty she carried her into the inn, stopping only briefly to look back at the shadows of the trees beyond the green mans gate.

As Stamo called for broth and spirits Mara gentle set Wenda down on the chair closest the fire, as she did the young woman grasped her hand weakly. Then for a moment as Wenda’s fear were mirrored in her own, both women knew and understood each other.

“you saw it , didn’t you?” Wenda whispered hoarsely that only she could hear. Mara hesitated, “I see it in your eyes!” she pressed wearily. Mara nodded, but before she could say any more a warm mug was placed in the trembling hunters hands and Stamo was asking what she could tell them.

Mara stayed beside her both to reassure and to hear what her response would be, for although premonition had allowed her to see that the inn and the village was in danger it had not given that danger shape or form, for that she knew she would need the shape-shifters recount .

[littlemanpoet]

"What can you tell us?" the man called Stamo asked.

Wenda's hands shook; the fire warmed her and the cup of broth took the chill out of her hands, but they could not take the cold terror out of her heart. She did not wish to think of It, for the very recalling gave It place in her mind, and sucked at the marrow of her soul. She shivered.

"I .... went .... to the village .... to the north ..." She spoke in halts and gasps, her teeth chattering. "It was daylight .... but .... quiet as death." Wenda took a sip of the hot broth. "Bodies .... lay .... in the snow .... I turned one over." Wenda stopped and gazed into the fire, transfixed except for the shivering. "His eyes .... his face .... caught .... in a frozen look .... of naked terror!" Wenda sipped from the cup of broth and swallowed convulsively. "They were all the same!"

"Peace, Wenda!" said Mara, her hand warm on her shoulder. "Peace! Speak no more of it."

Wenda shook her head violently, and her shivering stilled from the warmth of the fire; but also she willed herself to be calm enough to tell her tale aright.

"Quiet as death it had seemed, but the silence became menacing of a sudden. I looked from the face of a dead child caught in its fear. There was a man; he had come out of the hut closest to the village's inn; the chief's hut. His face was dead, his eyes black and empty; he walked toward me but his footfall made no sound. I felt I was in a nightmare. My deers saw him and fled south, taking the sledge with them. Wiser were they than I.

"'Who are you?' I cried, I know not how I found voice to speak to It. It did not answer but reached a hand out to me. At that moment, somehow I saw as an Elf sees, I guess, and before me the world changed, and the man was but a shell; the wraith in the man was cold and deadly, and sought me. I fell into a panic, for I knew if It caught me my soul would not be my own. In my panic my shifting came upon me and I fled with the fleetness of a reindeer. Had I not the gift, I would be dead this moment, and a shell for this wraith.

"It comes this way."

[Undómë]

‘There is a darkness in the flames . . .’ Goody’s voice followed close on to Wenda’s last words. ‘See how it creeps toward the heart of the embers.’ She looked up from her chair by the fire, turning her gaze on Wenda, and by inclusion, the tall man and the other woman who sat near her.

‘The new year is turning,’ she continued in a challenging tone. ‘How will you see the light prevail and the shadows driven back?’ Her gnarled hand reached down for a handful of holly and she threw into the glowing core of the little blaze. Flames danced and licked along the pointy leaves, consuming the reddened berries that clung to them. Rowan followed and then yew, each of them calling up the flames. Still the darkness remained.

‘What will you do?’

[Nerindel]

Mara stared at the dark shadows gathering within the flame, as the old woman spoke. The holly, Rowan and Yew fed the flames giving light and warmth, but did little to dispel the darkness or cold chill settling over Mara’s soul. Wenda was right it was coming she could feel it, but what could they do?

She had encountered Wraiths before, But none like the one Wenda had described. Wraiths by Nature where vile, vengeful, souls who refused to completely let go of life, they coveted it and despised with envy those who still possessed it. But always they are bound to the place of their death, praying on the unwitting wanderer or tricking with sweet voices or illusions, never did they leave their bounds to hunt souls so relentlessly, no this thing was different, darker, more dangerous!

‘What will you do?’ the old woman’s words cut through Mara’s thoughts and she looked back at the others, What will they do? She wondered, Thoughtfully studying each face in turn, trying to determine their measure.

‘What do you know of Wraiths?’ she asked wearily, she did not relish an encounter with this thing , she doubted that any of them did, but it must be done least the portent of her dream come to pass, it had never occurred to her before that those screams could very well turn out to be those of the people standing before her, but that was the nature of her gift… the future ever changeable is never clear!

As she waited their reply her dark eyes swept the room looking for the one who had once spoken those words to her. For if they where to succeed they may need the help of the one who carries Mandur’mak! …Hells Sword!

[Envinyatar]

Mori bid the creatures in the little courtyard stay near. ‘Even you, badger,’ he called out to the furry rump that was just scurrying toward the hole beneath the fence. ‘Your fierce temper and long claws will be no match for what has frightened the skin-changer.’ He tapped the end of his staff against the wooden structure. ‘Nor is there a burrow deep enough beneath the ground to escape him should he turn his will toward you.’

He turned, heading for the door when one of the smaller animals called out. ‘Well, then, who will protect us? The fence is a poor excuse for a barrier. We’ll all be killed . . . or worse . . .’ Mori looked down. It was one of the mice speaking. The little brown fellow stood on the toe of his boot now, stretching up on his hind legs, whiskers twitching with worry.

‘It will hold today and through the night, mousekin,’ Mori said in a firm voice. ‘Tomorrow will have to see to itself. Those inside will have had time to devise a plan.’ He smiled, looking up where the snowy owl perched. ‘My companion and I will help as we may. But stay in the courtyard, you will be safe for now.’

Mori opened the door; the edge of his long cape swirled about his ankles. He felt it catch on something for a moment, then pull free.

-----

Stamo got up from his seat near Wenda as Mori entered, nodding for his companion to join him a little ways away. ‘One of His strays,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Must have got loosed somehow from the northern prisons he kept them in. Not just a wight, either, or so I’m thinking.’

‘Seeking a strong body for his uses,’ Mori returned, shrugging his cape from his shoulders and laying it over a chair back. He nodded thoughtfully at Wenda. ‘And wouldn’t she be just the prize he was seeking.’ He flicked his gaze about the little room, taking the measure of its occupants. ‘Have they thought on what they might do,’ he asked. ‘Not yet, I think,’ Stamo answered. He looked over to where the old woman was fussing with the fire.

Goody had just thrown another few branches of rowan on the log, and now she was poking at the core of the blaze. ‘Setting it to rights?’ he asked, drawing near. ‘Let me give it a stir.’ He poked the tip of his staff into the darker area of the embers, positioning the new fuel at the heart of the fire. The log end blazed up white, licking round the edges of his staff. He seemed to murmur a few words as he tapped the log thrice and withdrew his staff. ‘There you go, Mistress Goody. Burning bright as ever . . .’

[Huan]

Birger sat on his little stool near the doorway to the kitchen. His chores were done, and Cook had everything in order for the midday meal. She would call him, she’d said, sending him out to sit for a while and drink a cup of steaming tea.

He was all eyes and ears as he strove to hear what the others were talking about. He shivered, despite the layers of clothing he had on. More from dread though than from the cold. Mistress Wenda looked very bad and scared, too. And she was someone he never thought to look so. She walked tall in his little world, like some untouchable being, brave and strong and fearless. He was hard put to reconcile how he saw her now with the image of her he’d always had.

White Paw sat next to him, leaning against his legs. Birger was glad of the warmth and of the friendly, secure feeling the dog gave him. ‘Can you hear them, boy?’ he asked, whispering in the dog’s ear. ‘Something about a terrible wight and such and coming after Mistress Wenda?’ He shivered again, thinking how just yesterday, he and Mara had gone far from the little village, to the north. No wonder White Paw had tried to hurry them home!

He glanced over at Old Goody who was herself watching one of the tall men as he stirred up the fire for her. There was an odd look on her face, he thought, as she glanced into the flames. But the fire had blazed up as he watched her, drawing his attention. And the light from it and the dancing flames brought a kernel of hope to him. He put his arms about White Paw’s neck. ‘It’ll be alright, won’t it, boy?’

[littlemanpoet]

The big man called Stamo came in from outside. He took his friend Mori aside and whispered, reckoning not quite aright that they were out of hearing, for Wenda's ears were uncommonly sharp; but not so sharp as to catch every word. 'strays ...' whispered Stamo. '... loosed ... north ... prisons ... kept ... Not ... wight either ...' Mori hissed back, 'strong body ... uses ...' Then Mori turned a little and nodded at Wenda meaningfully; Wenda was careful not to show that she more than caught his look out of the corner of her eye. ‘ ... she ... just ... prize ... seeking.’

Wenda's eyes widened. There was no mistaking his meaning. The thing was after her! She was not sure what the quiet thing was, wraith or worse. Whatever it was, it was the worst thing she'd ever come across in all her days, few as they were. Ravenous wolfpacks hungry for her two reindeer, Pada and Muna, she could outwit and outrace. This was beyond her. The being was beyond all the others here as well!

"I need to go from here," she murmured.

"Stay here," said Mara. "You are safe here."

Wenda turned on her, wide eyed with terror. "No one is safe here! I must leave! It seeks me! Not any of you, but if I stay, you are doomed too!"

"Hush! Hush! Do not say such things!" Mara soothed. "We will find a way."

Wenda subsided and stared into the fire. Stamo came over and exchanged pleasantries with Goody, then made to add his staff to the fire. He murmured some words, tapped the log thrice; the fire was hungry for it, or so it seemed. Then he withdrew his staff; Wenda expected the blaze to calm, but it did not. That staff. Wenda looked at Stamo again. Did her eyes see aright? Was that staff not charred, where he had put it in the fire?

Wenda thanked him for setting the blaze higher, and watched him a while.

Then she noticed the boy sitting by his dog, staring at her wide-eyed with fear. He put his arms about the dog's neck. ‘It’ll be alright, won’t it, boy?’

Wenda's heart went out to him. She thought a moment: Bergir was his name. It was not good that the boy should fear so. She wished it were otherwise, and that maybe she could allay his fear. She smiled.

"How is your dog called, Bergir lad?"

"White Paw, ma'am."

"A good name and a beautiful dog," she smiled. "Would you sit closer to the fire, you and white Paw? I would be glad of your company, and maybe you of the warmth?"

[Rose]

His master was a shy boots, especially about the females. White Paw nudged Birger’s thigh with his nose and giving a low growl, sat smartly on his haunches, one paw on Birger’s knee. His tail swish-swished back and forth on the wooden floor.

Tugging at Birger’s breeches with his teeth, White Paw pulled him toward a bench nearer the fire. One very near the chair on which the woman sat. There was something particularly intriguing about her his nose told him. And he felt an instant liking for her, a trust. White Paw sat leaning against the boy’s legs once again, but his eyes were fixed on the woman; his gaze following her every move.

[Arry]

The three Halflings had sat quiet as mice at their table. Willem had recovered from his fright reasonably well; the Green Man’s ale having helped considerably. Though the entrance of Wenda clothed only in a hastily thrown on robe and the hearing of her story had begun to put the wind up him again. And even his two more stout willed brothers, Andwise and Madoc, were beginning to feel a bit squeamish.

‘I knew it! I knew it!’ Willem said, a slight edge of hysteria coming into his voice. ‘We should have listened to gaffer Tolly. He said his knees were telling him a bad storm was brewing and we shoulda stayed home.’

‘You great ninny,’ Madoc said, pouring his brother another mug of ale. ‘His knees tell him about rain and hail and snow and such. Not the kind of storm we’ve run into here.’ He drummed his fingers on the table in irritation. ‘We get home again and you’re never dragging me back this way. Altogether too strange the doings ‘round here in the winter.’

Andwise was only half listening to the banter between his brothers. His mind was elsewhere . . . on the story the woman by the fire, Wenda, had told.

Of the three brothers, he was the trapper. His snares and traps were the bane of those animals he hunted for meat or pelt, from bird to boar. His eyes flicked to where Wenda sat. Would she be the bait, he wondered. Would she have to at all? Could the creature be enticed by something else? And what would it take to kill such a creature? Ordinary iron?

He watched Goody as she fussed again with the Yule log. A shaft from the log, perhaps. Sharpened to a killing point. Yes . . . that might work. With a bow trap, the sort used to kill the big boars.

‘Of course, it would most likely have to have some bodily form. But then wouldn’t it have some sort of body in which it moved about. We could kill the body, I’m fairly certain of that. But should we be worried about what might escape?’

The room had grown quiet. Andwise looked up from the shallow puddle of ale on the table in which he’d been drawing his plans for a trap. He’d spoken aloud without thinking. His brow furrowed at the attention.

‘The wight,’ he said, as if the two words were all the explanation needed. ‘I’m sure we could trap and kill it. Just need to know a bit more about it.’

‘Are you daft!’ spluttered Madoc. Willem said nothing . . . he’d fainted again.

[Folwren]

Berrick Andrail, having slept like a log well into the morning, missed the excitement and the dread caused by the coming of the reindeer with the empty sledge and what had followed afterwards, but when he entered the wide room with the fire at the end of it, and people scattered about, he became instantly aware of the spirit of fear that drifted about the room. He stopped in the doorway, an exclamation of merry greeting checked on his lips. His dark eyes moved over the entirety of the gathering there.

A couple of women sat by the fire, and two other men stood nearby. A young boy, the helper here at the Green Man, sat by the kitchen door, his hand on a dog’s head. And then, lastly, he noticed the three Haflings that were there last night, again sitting at the table. The one had fainted again. What for, Berrick had no idea, but he was about to find out.

He meant to ask the lad sitting closest to him what had happened, but Bergir stood up, not having noticed him, and walked towards the fire, having been invited by one of the women there. Berrick shrugged slightly, and decided to take his inquiry to the hobbits - at least to one of the two who were still conscious.

“Good morning, friends,” he said, walking towards them. They both glanced up, and one answered with a nod and a quiet ‘good morning.’ “I’ve just arrived here,” Berrick said, “slept a bit late, I’ll admit. But what’s the trouble? The party isn’t too merry this morning.”

[Arry]

Madoc and Willem respond to Berrick

Madoc had propped Willem’s head on the table, resting it on the unconscious Halfling’s arms. He could already hear the small moan from his brother’s lips which signaled the nearing return to some level of sensibility.

He pushed away his mug of ale, and called for the server to bring a large pot of hot, strong tea, a pot of honey, and two . . . no, three cups. ‘No . . . best make that four mugs.’ He eyed Berrick as the man approached the table. ‘And a plate of buns and cheese, too,’ he cried to the server just as he pushed open the door to go into the kitchen.

‘Have a seat, please. And don’t mind my brother. He’ll come round once he gets a whiff of the food and tea.’ He pointed to a chair opposite his brother and him. ‘You’re Master Andrail, aren’t you? I’m Madoc. Have some tea with us, if you will. Good story you told last night. Scared the wits out of Willem here!’

Willem had managed to raise his head as the server plopped down a plate of buns, a good sized piece of cheese, and the tray with the tea and honey. He looked at his brother, Madoc, and at the guest at their table. Andwise, he noted had got up and gone over to stand by Old Goody for the moment.

‘It was awful!’ he told Berrick, mumbling a bit as he took a bite of bun and cheese. ‘There was awful sounds last night. Like some beast prowling the forest. And then Mistress Wenda there . . . well, her sleigh and reindeer came back with out her and all in a panic they seemed. Then another reindeer came a little later bounding into the courtyard and all wild-eyed and such. And I’ll eat my vest if it didn’t turn into Mistress Wenda herself.’ He took a large gulp of tea. ‘Well they brought her in and she told of some wightish sort of thing what’s been chasing her from the village she’d visited up north. Very scary, bad, bad thing. And well, she’s here and the thing most likely is still after her . . . and we’re here . . . and oh my . . .’

Willem’s head hit the table with a thunk.

‘He’s got it mostly right,’ said Madoc, propping his brother’s head once again. ‘Andwise, over there by Granny, has set his mind on the problem, and I’m sure others here in the room are sorting it out, too.’ He poured a cup of tea, offering it to the man. ‘I guess we just sit tight, til we’ve come up with a plan of some sort and can act on it.’ He looked at Willen who was still out cold. ‘Some of us anyway . . .’

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Andwise speaks to Goody

Andwise was deep in conversation with Old Goody. He leaned forward in his chair, his face a study in serious thought. One hand had strayed down beside him and was resting on the part of the Yule log that jutted out across the hearth. ‘Now, I’m not saying it is or it isn’t . . .’ Andwise’s voice trailed off, not sure of his footing on the question they’d been discussing. ‘Do you understand Granny what I’m meaning? You have your own ways in these parts. And I’m wondering if you think those ways will aid us?’

[Undómë]

Goody gave Andwise a long, considering look. The Yule had brought such a mix of peoples, of creatures, really, to the Green Man this year. She wondered what fates had conspired to make it so.

‘For one who does not follow the old ways as we do here, you are a most respectful fellow.’ Goody shifted uneasily on her chair. Despite the warmth of the fire, she had a chill within that could not be touched. It made her old bones ache; her face pale, though the heat bathed her cheeks. ‘’Twill most like be my last Yule to see done,’ she thought to herself. ‘Best I see it through most full’s I can.’

Her gaze turned back to the Halfling. ‘Aye, lad. I think they’ll help as is in their power.' Goody half closed her eyes and sang a little song she'd learned as a girl.

Now thankéd be the great Green Man
He who walked ‘fore we began
Hunter, stag , reaper, sower
Blood that flows through leaf and flower
Shelter us from future strife,
And grant us glad and healthy life.

'There’s some evil, though, as throws its shadow from before the Green Man’s time. Be needing something like to match it.’ She flicked her eyes to where the two tall men were now sitting, speaking quietly to each other.

‘Now what was it you had in mind, Master Andwise?’ she asked turning back to him. ‘Sharpened shafts of wood from the Yule log I heard you say. Powerful they'd be. But how do you plan to use them?’

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda sat before the heat of the Yule fire, feeling the last chill leave her fingers. She sighed. Mara had been quiet, sitting beside her, in a calming way. Here was one at last that Wenda felt she could have as friend.

White Paw was watching Wenda, his nose twitching inquisitively. He looked to have a wolf in his forebears, not so many whelpings agone. With the heat of the fire, his mouth opened in a big smile, his quick tongue sticking out between his two wolf teeth. Wenda smiled and reached out a welcoming hand. He sniffed it and touched it with his tongue, then looked up at her and smiled the more.

"He likes you," the boy said.

"And I him," Wenda said. She scratched White Paw behind the ears. "Maybe I should take me dogs to my sledge once Pada and Muna have done. Not long now."

Wenda frowned. Such talk was foolishness. She was not like to live out the the next day or so. She could overhear talk here and there, all of it seemingly including her own name. And plans, she heard them saying. What plan might one make against something as fell as that? Surely it was beyond any of them! Goody seemed to understand that; but then she had looked askance at Stamo and Mori.

Wenda spoke up.

"Goody," she said, kneading the fur under White Paw's neck, "do you know somewhat?"

[Arry]

Andwise paused in his explanation of how he planned to use a ringed series of bow traps to pin the creature firmly to a tree. They were the sort of traps he had used before in the hunting of the massive wild pigs found in the forest of the north country. Too big for one or even several of his fellow Hobbits to handle with stave and nets, this had been the most effective way they’d developed to bring down one of the tuskers.

He’d wondered about Goody’s comment – the evil that had come before her Green Man. And so he stepped back out of the way, giving Goody a clear view of Wenda. Perhaps the woman’s question to her would give him a clearer idea of what more would be needed.

[Undómë]

‘Do you know somewhat?’ Wenda asked, her fingers tangled in the dog’s hair.

Goody turned herself round on her chair, facing the woman. ‘Aye, Goody knows somewhat, Wenda. And others as know somewhat, too. But there be a difference twixt knowing and doing.’ She got up with an effort and made her way over to where the woman sat.

‘Twill be alright, Wenda. Look!’ The old woman raised her chin toward the burning Yule Log. ‘The fire burns bright; there be no shadow eats at it now. The year turns as it should, and we turn with it as we will.’

Goody motioned for the Halfling to come over. ‘Show Wenda what you’re working on, Master Andwise. Of course there’ll be other parts to the plan as will need to be put in place. But this seems a fair start.’

[littlemanpoet]

"I could not help hearing the plans of Master Andwise," Wenda said, "for he and I live by the same means." She looked to Andwise. "Maybe we can tangle it to a tree. What then? 'Tis only a shell, that man-body it wears. When first I saw it, no body it had at all. A shadow it was, and moved free without a body. Who's to say that if the body it wears is stuck to a tree, it doesn't leave it sag and take up the next nearest?" Wenda shuddered. "Nay, traps and spears and sword are no match for this unwight, unless they be Elvish."

Wenda looked to White Paw. "Are you an Elf dog? Nay, you do not look it, though legends tell that there was one once that ran in middle earth, and could use the speech of humans." White Paw tilted his head. Wenda smiled. "Nay, you beauty, no Elf dog are you, none the worse for that."

[Huan]

‘No, Mistress Wenda,’ said Birger, crouching down by White Paw. ‘He’s no Elf dog. White Paw’s just good wolf stock and, of course, his daddy’s the inn hound.’ Birger buried his face in the thick fur of White Paw’s neck. ‘His daddy was a brave’un. Stood off a bear from attacking one of the woodsmen who’d gone out to bring in wood for the inn. White Paw’s brave, too. I’m sure he’d help if he could.’

Birger stood up and looked over at the Halfling, Andwise. ‘I don’t know about unwights or wights even. But maybe Master Andwise’s traps could help. Slow it down or something, at least, couldn’t they? Enough for someone else to kill it off.’

‘What about you, Master Stamo, Master Mori?’ he asked, turning to where the tall men sat. ‘What do you think?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Before either of the tall two-leggeds could reply to Birger's question, there was a horrible racket at the window of the Inn. Snow Owl had perched on a branch that dipped low, one that almost touched the outside of the window. The owl was screeching loudly, deliberately butting his head against the pane to try and get someone to pay attention to him but with little success up till this point. To most of those standing nearby, this merely sounded like a series of raucous hoots, although they had no idea why a large bird of prey should be acting this way.

By this time, the steady hooting of the bird had escalated into a series of piercing and demanding shrieks. To the ears of Mori and Stamo, however, there was meaning behind this escalating racket, since they were adept in understanding the ways of the creatures of the wood and meadow. At their urging, one of the bystanders came over and pushed open the sash an inch or two so the Snow Owl could be heard more clearly.

"Masters, please. I don't mean to interrupt the likes of you, but I must speak. I have two concerns, and I can't simply walk through the front door to voice them as you can do. First, I have been watching Tevildo for some time. I am sure he knows something he's not telling us. He is quaking in his paws, and is slinking about the courtyard with his fur standing on end, looking as if he'd like to take on someone in a fight. I know he has some fairly unusual connections, and am wondering if you might want to question him sometime. Perhaps he knows something useful. To be truthful, I don't totally trust him. I am not always sure whose "side" he is on, or even if he understands the whole idea of "side", but I'm quite sure he doesn't like this shadow thing."

The Owl blinked his round eyes solemnly and then opened his great hooked beak to speak, without waiting for a reply to his first query. "I have another worry. You've asked the animals to stay in the back courtyard and hide themselves. For some creatures, that is easy. But for others it is not in their nature. I believe it would be far safer to send some of these outside the gates of the Inn. The winged ones could fly north of here to try and catch a glimpse of this thing. Even if they can not actually see this shadow wraith, they may spy some damage or havoc it has wrecked in other villages so we can keep track of its progress and guess when it will actually arrive here. The other animals can be told to guard the perimeter of the Inn, fanning out into the orchard and down by the stream. At the very least, it will keep my folk busy. And perhaps someone will see something important and rush back to tell us. What do you think then? Can we help too?"

While most of those nearby could not understanding the meaning of the owl's hoots, it was clear even to these that the bird was quite serious and addressing Mori and Stamo in a very deliberate manner.

[Envinyatar]

Mori glanced briefly at his companion, the skin at his temples tightening; his eyes narrowed and one brow raised slightly. Stamo appeared not to have caught the glance. Instead he leaned forward, toward Birger, and studied him for a moment.

‘A serious question,’ he said, nodding his head at the youngster. Behind the boy's questioning look, it seemed almost that hope warred with fear. ‘And deserving of a serious answer.’ Mori’s grey eyes turned dark and though he feigned a certain casualness, his attention was riveted on how his companion might handle this.

‘What I think is that such a creature as prowls the outskirts of this village takes down his prey most by fear.’ His eyes flicked briefly to Wenda. ‘The battle against the shadow is over before the first strike falls when fear rides with you.’

There seemed a puzzled, disbelieving look on Birger’s face. ‘Not to say there shouldn’t be a healthy respect for this opponent. He is quite powerful. Quite.’ Stamo sat back looking for a moment into the distance, as if his gaze considered something beyond the room’s small space. ‘Still, I think that if a careful plan is put together, he can be slowed, as you say Birger . . . and you Master Andwise. And perhaps others here will lend their skills that he might be taken care of altogether.’ He nodded to where Old Goody had returned to her seat by the fire. ‘The Yule log burns bright now, as she said. The shadows that struck at its heart are fled. The light shines constant. The year will turn well this year, I think, for the Green Man. Hope is with us.’

Stamo’s eyes turned to Mara, who had been sitting quietly the while. ‘Tell us, Mistress Mara what do you see . . .

-----------------------------

As Stamo spoke, Mori ushered the owl to the far side of the room, their heads were bent together. The man sitting in a chair, the owl perched on the back of another.

‘My apologies, Master Owl,’ the man had begun. ‘I had forgotten the lessons of another companion. How fearless and how clever the smaller creatures can be in defense of their homes. Still, I would ask you let those who are the least able to defend themselves remain within the protection of the rear courtyard. Naught will pass in without my knowing and my leave.’

He grinned at the bird, who’d huffed his feathers at these words. ‘Others of the birds and beasts bear a great respect for you, is what I mean. And with your words and your spirit I can see you as some feathered chieftain who might marshal his troops with his zeal. And they would follow after you; some to their untimely deaths who should best have been left behind. Make them some small part of the effort against this foe, though. Let them have hope and a certain pride that their skills were put to good use.’

Mori glanced back to where Stamo and the others were talking, then, turned back to the Owl. ‘I think your ideas are excellent for the most part. Just make quite certain that none of your folk come close to this creature. They must be vigilant and very quick. None must try to engage him on their own. Working together is what will see you through, I think.’ He cocked his head toward Stamo. ‘And we will lend our aid as is needed and we can.’

The man stood up, offering the owl his cloaked arm. ‘Come, let’s go outside and speak with Tevildo . . .

[Folwren]

Berrick Andrail had sat opposite the two haflings. He silently held the steaming cup of tea in his hand as he listened intently to the owl and then the man’s replies. He turned his head and leaned slightly towards Madoc.

“This man knows the speech of the animals?” he asked quietly. It wasn’t exactly a question necessary to be answered, considering that the answer was evident, and yet Berrick’s wonder was greatly roused. He thought such an art had been lost. It had, at least, in his country. There was a short pause. “A wightish thing, your fainted brother said. Do I understand correctly. . .this thing. . .if it is a wight. . .can it not be killed? Surely by strength of arms it could be overcome and sent back to where it’s supposed to be.”

He had not heard the account given by Wenda, of the village and the dead. . .the corpses with the frozen look of terror etched in each and every one of their faces. Wide traveling had brought him into and through many adventures, but none with anything like this. Danger and fear he had overcome, but always with something mortal, something of flesh and blood. If this was different, he couldn’t be expected to know.

“Our brother seems to think so,” Madoc replied in answer to Berrick’s question. He nodded once again towards the hobbit who was off by the fire. Berrick looked around.

“I think I will go see what talk they hold now amongst themselves,” he said. “Thank you for the tea.” He offered a smile to the hobbit before turning and walking towards the hearth. He spoke to no one as he stopped at the edge of the circle formed by three women and the hobbit. He was content to listen. . .but at the time, no one was speaking.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo sat at the top of the old stone wall, glowering miserably at anyone who dared approach him. He was not in a very good mood. Snowy Owl had told all the animals to hide, but the cat was not going to listen to the prattlings of a pushy bird. He should just take off on his own, he reasoned, like the other cats in his party who had left the Inn a few hours before. He could race across the meadow into the thicket and leave this sorry scene behind. Tevildo knew enough of the ways of Wraiths that he felt confident in his ability to keep hidden from the shadowy nemesis that was terrorizing the countryside. Let the others manage on their own.

With that comforting thought, Tevildo settled in for a short snooze. Curling up so that he resembled a large white puffball, he nestled his head on his paws and wrapped his tail around his body. Soon his eyes were closed. Within a moment he was dreaming......

In his dream, there were the usual flashes of glory that he had earned as the hunter for the household of Melko so many years before. He saw himself curled up victoriously at the Dark Lord's feet while the latter bent down to stroke his head and speak kind words about Tevildo's ability to leap out and dismember any prey. He had been a great deal larger then, and the two-leggeds had no trouble understanding his speech. Such a pity, he thought, that the two-leggeds in this age were so blind and dumb.

Usually, the dream stopped at this point, and Tevildo awoke, feeling good about himself. But this time, it was different. The cat found himself walking down a large dark tunnel in the very lowest level of Melko's great fortress. It was not a place he cared to visit. There were usually screams and shrieks coming from behind the heavy stone doors, hideous reflections of an ugliness that even Tevildo preferred not to probe. Elves were taken down into these chambers. The cat did not know what happened to them but he had never seen any emerge alive. Still, these were Elves and their misfortune did not really concern him.

This time, one of the stone doors had been left open an inch or two. Tevildo could hear noises coming from inside the room, but these did not seem to be from Elves or Humans. Rather the dreadful shrieks and howls could only have come from a cat who is being pulled apart limb from limb or turned into a ball of flame. Too curious for his own good, Tevildo crept through the opening and hid behind a large barrell that someone had set down near the door.

Peering out from his hiding place, Tevildo saw the greatest of the Lord's wraiths sitting with a large cloth sack. His regular job was apparently done, and he was now stopping to relax. Inside the sack were ten kittens piteously meowing. One by one, the Wraith removed the animals from the sack and proceded to have his sport with them. Those images had embedded themselves on Tevildo's mind. One kitten lay broken and bleeding, his eyes separated from his head. Another had its tail cut off, still another had been set on fire, and a fourth lay disemboweled. By the time the Wraith finished with his play the only sound heard inside the chamber was that of his own raucous laughter.

At this point Tevildo could take no more. What a terrible waste of talent! Those kittens would have made fine hunters in just a little while. He wished he was large and fierce enough to make this murderer go up in smoke the same way that the Wraith had set the small grey kitten on fire.

Then Tevildo did a very foolish thing. He gathered all his courage and emerged from behind the barrell racing straight for the shrouded figure, attempting to clamp his front claws into the torturer's shadowy body. The hideous creature stared down in disdain, howled in laughter, and tossed Tevildo across the room with great force. The cat smashed against the cold stone wall; his body instantly went limp. He awoke several hours later, with one front leg broken and a bloody gash across his chest.

It was at this point that Tevildo pushed back his own wall of sleep, shaking like a young green leaf that has been pushed from a tree too early by a terrible windstorm. He had made a decision. He was not going to take off across the field. That thing approaching the village was the same thing he had seen in the dungeon that day. The terror in the eyes of the human victims was the same terror he had seen mirrored in the eyes of the kitten. Tevildo was absolutely certain of who this creature was, and he wanted to make him pay.

[Envinyatar]

Mori let fly the owl as soon as they passed out into the back courtyard. ‘Gather your troops, Master Snowy-wing; sort them out to your liking and set them their tasks. I think those who are making plans within will be glad of any information with which to pin down this creature in some way.’

He let his gaze rest for a moment on the old apple tree whose branches leaned over the courtyard fence, and in a most attentive way it seemed. ‘I wonder . . .’ he said softly to himself. There was something that Goody had said as they’d stoked the fire in the hearth and talked of the Green Man of the Woods. ‘He be a secret, a mystery ‘mongst the trees,’ she had said. ‘He serves for good, I think,’ she went on. ‘But might not be your notion of such. Sees to his creatures, he does.’ He remembered that she had poked the fire with a charred piece of rowan and the sparks flew upward, bright and thick. ‘But ‘tis said that when the shadow stretches long and brings a killing cold to root and stem and those as goes about the forest on four legs or more, or belly, or by wing, then he rouses up in anger and in strength.’ She nodded at her memories, speaking an old saying. ‘He gathers all unto himself and his strength is assured.’

Mori was thinking on this when his eye caught the figure of the white cat, hunched down on the stone wall to his left. Tevildo’s eyes were bright in the pale winter light. And behind them seemed a banked anger. Taking a chance that such anger was not directed at him, the man drew near and spoke softly to the feline.

‘Tevildo,’ he began, leaning on his staff, his eyes gazing in the same direction as the cat’s. ‘There is need of your knowledge and your skills. Will you lend your aid, Master Hunter?’

[Tevildo]

At first, Tevildo did not respond. He glanced off in the distance with a disdainful eye and then began to preen his coat, pretending he had not even heard what Mori had asked. A tiny war was going on inside. It was against his nature to cooperate with two-leggeds. Working on the same side as wren and owl also made him uncomfortable. Still, he could not discount or set aside the terrible images that he remembered .

He stared down at Mori, ignoring the particular question that the two-legged had raised, and instead began speaking about the Wraith in general terms. “This creature…. You should know what we are up against.” Tevildo hesitated a moment as disturbing memories pressed against his mind. He collected himself before continuing. “I have met this Wraith before. He is one of Melko’s chief lieutenants, an unfortunate mistake that my master made in delegating his authority. Perhaps you already know this, or perhaps not.”

He exchanged quizzical glances with Mori before going on. “This Wraith can look into the eyes of an Elf and change his very nature and fëa without even laying a finger on him, or so I have heard many say. A master of terror and deceit, he is no friend of cats.” These last words were said with particular emphasis. The cat went on, lowering his voice, as if confiding a very great secret. “Like the two-leggeds, I hunt to survive, though my play and achievements bring me great pleasure. This creature hunts for no reason at all, other than to see terror in the faces of his victims. I would dearly like to see him fall, but we must be very careful in what we do.”

“This creature has one weakness. He hates the light of day. I do not mean he is like a troll who turns to stone at the first hint of daybreak, but his strength and resolve are at their weakest when the sun first comes up. If there was some way we could find his lair and spy him out in the early hours of the morning before he settles down to rest, that would be a wise move. No one should be so foolish as to try and confront a Wraith on the battlefield of his own choosing. If you pursue him by night, stay well hidden: do not let him get a whiff of you. And, whatever you do, do not look directly upon his shadowy visage or form, or you will rue the day you ever walked upon this earth.”

[Nerindel]

Mara replies to Stamo!

It was true Mara had not spoken in sometime, unable to find her companion and seek his counsel on the things that troubled her she had slipped into silent reverie. Listening carefully to the thoughts and plans of the others, but all the while unable to shake the chill memory of her dream!

Wenda’s recount had all but confirmed that what she had been shown was the horrific fate of that little village… men, women and children all gone, souls ripped violently from their bodies and thoughtlessly discarded, lost and confused these poor souls would wander the confines of their village searching for the peace that was so cruelly denied them! that was what the deafening silence had shown her and it saddened her heart greatly, silently she prayed to Eru that they might find their way into his waiting embrace. It was only then that she became aware that someone was speaking her name.

‘Tell us, Mistress Mara what do you see . . .

Slowly lifting her eyes she saw the same tall gentleman who had held forth the door and beckoned her to bring Wenda inside, the same man who had banished the darkness from the flames and to whom now many offered their thoughts and ideas and as she studied his dark eyes she could see why, for beneath the kind and patient gaze sat a depth, an ageless wisdom that she had noted much among the elves that had raised her, a wisdom that was not quite without burden, this is what she saw as she looked in Stamo’s eyes and knew not that he wished an insight to her thoughts on the matter but that he sought instead that which was shown to her.

She nodded then and spoke softly, “Each seeing is different, sometimes clear pictures are revealed and others only sounds and thoughts as this last was,” she paused for a moment feeling the eyes of the others upon her, But Stamo held her gaze encouraging her to go on.

“Darkness filled my mind a darkness filled with unrestrained malice and hatred, then came the screams, tormented soul wrenching cries that froze my very heart, but still the darkness was not appeased I could feel its anger and frustration growing as it drew more screams, I can only guess as it moved through it’s unfortunate victims! Then as quickly as the screams had began they were silenced leaving only the lost and confused fears of the dead whose souls ripped violently from their bodies were then left to wonder aimlessly through the darkness. But still the Darkness remained brooding in it’s anger and frustration, till a new sound roused it, a sound that the screams of the dieing had driven from my mind until again I heard it within the courtyard of this inn!” And at this her eyes swept sympathetically over Wenda.

“It was the sound of the grinding hitching’s of a sledge!” she continued turning back to face Stamo.

“And that is not all master Stamo,” she added leaning closer that only he would be able to hear. “Just before the vision faded and I became fully awake, I sensed the darkness shifting and it’s mood changing to that of gleeful excitement, not the happy exhilarating type of glee mind you but a cold and evil sort, that left me fearful for this new thing that had roused it‘s excitement!” and again she glanced back at the young skin-changer.

She rose then and placing a hand on Stamo‘s arm gently guided him away from the others “I believe her still in grave danger, but I would speak not of it to her,” She went on in light tones, “already she senses the danger she may have brought to the Green Man and wishes to leave, but know my mind master Stamo, I intend to stay near her that if this danger threatens perhaps the good graces of Irmo will allow me to see more, perhaps something that will aid us and keep the young woman safe, no keep all of us safe!” she whispered wistfully.

“I do not pretend that like the others this thing does not frighten me, but that the portent of my vision may yet be a look of what could be here if we do nothing, frightens me more so that I will do what I must to prevent it! But since my vision two questions have puzzled me and I would pose them now to you if you would hear Master Stamo?”

Then when he nodded that he would hear she continued. “firstly thus, why does this thing so desperately search for a solid form to sustain it? and secondly what were to happen when and if it finds what it needs? Will it then be more dangerous?” as she spoke she stared at the growing flames in the fire as though somehow they would hold the answers that eluded her.

Then another though came to her unbidden, it was not a pleasant thought and she hesitated over it awhile and before the other could speak she posed yet another! “ This thing what ever it is or was, if it took a body that could sustain it, would it not then be venerable to death like the rest of us?” she knew what she asked was grave, but she felt it needed to be asked.

[piosenniel]

‘Well now, who’s going to notice a little brown wren?’ the bird thought to himself. ‘I can slip in as quick and quiet as any old shadow. I’ve only to keep my wits about me and my beak shut. And ‘twill seem that naught but some old brown leaf drifts from bough to bough.’

The effects of the mead were all gone now, and wren’s little black eyes were glinting with possibilities of some heroics on his part. He had heard, somewhat from Owl and somewhat from eavesdropping as he hid in the rafters of the Inn, the plans the two-leggeds were hatching. He wanted to be in on the carrying out of them. Perhaps someday a wren would be the main character in a story of bravery against an awful foe; the sort of story told from parent to child down many generations.

It was always the eagles and hawks and ravens and such that played great and notable parts in what few battles he’d heard stories of. Why couldn’t a small bird be counted among the principals, the champions of the hour, he wondered. And why couldn’t that bird be he?

‘I can fly as well as any,’ he boasted to the breezes as he flew over the Inn’s fence and toward the forested foothills. Below him, along the bare wintered ground, he could see other of the animals fanning out, taking up their watches as owl had suggested. He shivered for a moment deep within his coat of feathers, thinking how awful it would be to be bound to the earth . . . unable to take wing.

He got, finally, to the line of trees which stood at the edge of the foothill forest. With only the barest of fluttering noises he landed on the middle layer of branches of one of the taller trees. Wren pressed his body in against a small clump of brown, withered leaves and stood stock still, his little eyes roving about as he took in the forest floor below. From his vantage point, he could see the bare, snowy ground, the rocky outcroppings between the forest and the village’s wall.

“Well, so far, so good,’ he whispered to himself, noting nothing ominous in the scene spread out before him. ‘Not too hard, at least for someone such as I . . . this being a hero . . .’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Owl sat on the topmost branch of the tallest pine that towered over the highest slope of the Iron Hills, gazing out at the rugged fields and heavy thickets. He had finally finished giving each of the animals their particular assignment. Most of the smaller animals as well as the youngest ones had been told to stay hidden in the back courtyard of the Inn, while others were sent out to patrol a particular area, fanning out along the road and over the meadows to hunt for any sign of the shadow Wraith. He had warned each of them to keep their distance from the creature and to return to the Inn immediately if they noticed any signs of the Wraith.

Inside his head, Own checked off the names of each bird and beast that he had given his instructions to. He was nearly finished with his accounting when he suddenly recalled that one name had been missing from his list. He could not remember seeing or speaking with the Wren. It would be just like that brave and headstrong bird to take off on his own without even a word to anyone at the Inn. Owl had spent the next hour anxiously on the wing, gliding about high in the sky while he searched for the young bird.

It wasn't until he'd given up and head back to the Green Man Free House that his efforts met with some success. There, nestled in a small tree, staring down at the bare, snowy ground, was Wren. The little one had reached the outskirts of the village and crossed beyond its wall, but had not yet made it to the outskirts of the deep forest.

Owl hesitated a moment, uncertain what to do. His first instinct was to go up to the bird and scold him thoroughly for taking off on his own without a single word or warning and without the help of a partner. All the other creatures had been instructed to go out in groups of two and three so they would be able to help each other should any danger or difficulty arise. By all rights, he should order the Wren to return to the Inn. Still, he wavered. He remembered a time from his own past. He'd been a young owlet then and had seen the other birds of prey gliding out on patrol to keep watch for a party of particularly virulent two-leggeds. His mother had warned him to stay hidden in the nest, but he had disregarded her admonition and taken off on his own. It had not been the wisest thing to do but he could not live with himself and hide his head when others were going out to perform their duties. And just a little piece of Owl had wanted to accomplish something important and have others recognize what he'd done.

In an instant, Owl made his decision. He would glide high above the little bird and stay behind for some distance, yet close enough that he could keep an eye on things and make sure Wren did not get in serious trouble. Later, when all this was over, he would give the little bird a stern lecture on the importance of not going off on one's own without a single word to anyone.

Although he was tiny, Wren was bright and often noticed things that others did not see. Moreover, he always seemed to drag himself out of whatever trouble he managed to get himself into (and there had been many such episodes). Perhaps that was due to his quick wit, or was simply a matter of luck. In either case, Owl decided to give Wren the freedom to explore under a distant, watchful eye. He hoped he would not come to regret that decision.

[Arry]

Willem felt chilled by what the others in the room were saying about the creature. Andwise’ traps would do no good against such a one. And hard to think that, as his brother was among the best trappers in their little village. He watched as Andwise sighed and shook his head, perplexed about what he now heard about the creature who was after Wenda.

‘Granny?’ he asked, slipping quietly into a chair near the old woman. ‘May I sit by the fire with you?’ He picked up a small sprig of holly and threw it into the heart of the flames. It flared up, struggling it seemed to escape the greedy fire. There was no hope for it, though; it withered. And turning to ash, fell into the blaze and disappeared.

‘Death is coming, isn’t it Granny? Shadowy death.’ He held out his hands to the fire, trying to warm them. ‘Will the Green Man hold against it?’

[Undómë]

‘Well now,’ returned Goody, turning just enough to see his profile as the Halfling stared into the fire. The light bathed his face, highlighting the small creases at the corners of his eyes. They would be from laughter, she thought, and not the marks of one who is too serious. Yet here he is, his brow furrowed with worry; his eyes narrowed as he considered the flames.

‘I think you be wanting a simple answer, Master Willem.’ She poked at the Yule log, making the sparks fly up. ‘And I wonder, too, which Green Man you speak of – the one who walks the forest or this Inn which bears his name. Which one, Willem?’

‘I could say “yes”. The Green Man will hold against the shadow.’ She saw the hope flare up in his eyes as she spoke. ‘The Inn will stand and all within will be safe.’

‘But, then I could say “no”. The Green Man waxes and wanes; it is his nature. Light and dark push against one another; death pushes against life; old makes way for new, and in turn new turns old and so it goes.’ She smiled at him, giving his upturned face a long, considering look.

‘You’ll be safe, Willem,’ she said quietly to him, her hand laid reassuringly on his arm. ‘You stay here . . . with Old Goody.’ She nodded at the others in the room. ‘Let them do what they need to be doing and we’ll do ours. The fire must be fed, the log kept burning.’

[piosenniel]

For a while . . . a very short while, to be exact . . . wren sat still as a twig on the tree’s limb. His little black eyes looked all about and up and down, expecting to see his quarry. But all there seemed to be were a few snow flakes swirling lazily down from the skiffs of snow on the branches above him and a shredded old brown leaf blown about on the breeze.

‘Pish-tosh! Stuff and nonsense - this sitting about spying on snowflakes!’ He eyed one closely that had landed near his foot. ‘Not menacing at all,’ he declared. Wren fluffed out his feathers and hopped out to the end of the branch he’d perched on.

A ways away, he could see the forest proper. Tall balsams, dark green with snow hung boughs, sidling up the sides of the foothills. In the distance he heard the harsh kaw! ( http://www.shades-of-night.com/aviary/sounds/raven1.wav) of a raven followed by several excited caws. There, in the forest, under the shadows of the trees, something of interest was going on.

Wren flitted silently from tree to tree, making his way toward where he’d heard the call . . .

[Envinyatar]

Before Stamo could answer Mara, Mori motioned to him from the kitchen’s door. Stamo in turn nodded for his companion to come into the common room, and asked him to share his news.

‘This is a very old, very powerful being and so must be approached in a very cautious manner,’ began Mori. ‘Or so I have heard from someone who knows this creature all too well. He says the creature hates the light of day. That his power wanes with the rising of the sun, his strength and resolve will be at their weakest . . .’

‘His recommendations, then . . .’ prompted Stamo.

‘That somehow his lair need be found, where he settles down to rest as the sun comes up. And if he can be set upon then, then there is a greater chance of besting him.’

‘And that’s all there is to it? That’s his advice?’ Stamo raised his brows a look of disbelief on his face.

‘Well, no,’ admitted Mori. He sat down in a chair, motioning for a mug of something to drink. ‘There was also the instruction to stay hidden, let him get no whiff of your approach. And, oh, yes . . . never look directly upon his shadowy visage or form. It seems that if you do that, then you will rue the day you ever walked upon earth.’

And I am ruing the day we ever did walk in middle-earth . . . Stamo’s eyes flicked quickly to Mori’s face.

Still, we must help as we can. We are obliged to do so. Mori’s gaze was intent on his companion.

In a way . . . but not here. We should not have come. I told you that.

Mori shrugged almost imperceptibly. Still, here we are . . .

Stamo’s brow furrowed. It was an old argument between them. And one that would not be resolved at present. He resigned himself to giving in to what the present moment demanded. The sooner this was resolved the sooner they could move on.

He turned back to Mara. ‘I do not know the answer to your first question, Mistress. It is an evil thing, a creature of shadow, of darkness. I would not begin to think as it does, to ferret out its foul reasoningss. As for your second concern – I’ll say yes, the creature will grow more powerful, more dangerous. I think it would be best if we do not wait for events to give proof to that. Better to kill the snake before it grows another rattle and bites, or so I have always thought.’ He paused for a moment, considering how her last question might be answered. In the end, he chose the simplest answer. ‘And, no, to your third question . . . though it takes a body to sustain it, it is not tied to that form. Its spirit will survive the body’s death and seek out another.’

Stamo sighed and sat down heavily in a chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, finally settling in to rest, chin in his palm as his elbow rested on the table.

Well, that was rather abrupt. True, to be sure . . . but rather precipitate in the telling. Mori shook his head. He knew Stamo would not be prodded any further.

The Inn had grown quiet, as those in the common room listened to what the man had said. Mori stood up and spoke softly to those gathered. ‘All is not lost – as it would seem from what my friend has said.’ He paced a little between the tables. ‘We do not know where the creature is. If you will find it and flush it out. Then we will see it taken care of.’

You hope we see it taken care of! Stamo sighed again. You are such a dreamer sometimes. I know, as well, as do you, that we have no idea what the outcome might actually be.

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda had heard Mori's and Stamo's words, and had overheard those of Goody. It seemed there were more allies than she could have hoped; if only it would make a difference.

Wenda was scratching White Paw's ruff when it happened. Pada and Muna were calling to her, pulling at her. She did not know whether she was safer in this skin or the other. It did not matter, the pull was upon her. Sometimes she did not feel it for months; sometimes the next pull was only hours after the last. Fear added to its urgency. I must get outside. She marked that she was holding onto White Paw's fur, and he was becoming ill at ease and started to back away. She let go and stood abruptly.

Mara looked up, concerned. "Are you well?"

"I must see to the needs of my reindeer," she murmured, and rushed out of the room, trying not to stagger. She went to Pada and Muna. They were pulling her to loose them. She undid their harness with feverish hands.

Mara had followed her; but by the time she had come into the waning sunlight, she saw three reindeer running away from the sledge and out of the grounds of the Green Man.

[piosenniel]

Almost hidden in the shadows of a tall balsam’s boughs perched a single raven. A look out for his companions below as they cawed in excitement and flapped their wings and pecked one another in order to get closer in to their meal. Wren glided in silently to a nearby tree, his eyes searching the small clearing.

The snow was bloodied and thrown up in heaps here and there as if a great struggle had gone on. Now on its dark red little hills and valleys the footprints of predators crossed and recrossed the clearing. All gone now save for the dark dusting of ravens that feasted on the remains.

It was a deer, a large buck to be exact that lay on the icy bed. Wren shuddered wondering what animal had brought it down. The antlered head was torn off, and rested where it was thrown against the base of a thick fir. Eyes open, it stared at its own remains as the birds stripped ribbons of its flesh from the carcass. The great buck’s back was broken, its limbs twisted at odd angles . . . as if something had toyed with the deer. It seemed not a clean kill - not one meant for food. Wren’s mind took in with horror that this might have been the handiwork of the dark creature.

With a loud warning call, the sentinel raven glided across the clearing, calling the others away. They answered his call and took wing, leaving the carcass to its snowy bed. There had been a noise, as of some beasts crashing through the trees a ways away. Wren flitted from tree to tree, keeping in the shadows, as he neared the source.

Three reindeer plunged in under the branches of the outlying trees. What are they doing here, the little bird wondered, cocking his head at them as they passed beneath his perch. Curiosity drove him after them.

[Nerindel]

“Oh Wenda!” Mara sighed shaking her head sympathetically, her brow creased with worried concern as she watched the fleeing forms of the reindeer race from the grounds towards the dark silhouette of the forest against the dying light.

She hesitated then glancing back at the door which she had just come through, where the others sat over supper contemplating and planning how to survive this thing when it came and come it would! Deep down inside she believed this to be inevitable. She knew that she should return and tell the others of Wenda’s flight, but Master Stamo’s words still echoed in her mind… 'I’ll say yes, the creature will grow more powerful, more dangerous. I think it would be best if we do not wait for events to give proof to that. Better to kill the snake before it grows another rattle and bites,' by the time she went back inside relied what she had seen and a search party arranged it might already by to late.

Besides she had promised herself that she would stay close to the young woman, partially out of guilt for having taken the woman’s recount on their first meeting so lightly to heart, but mostly because she had formed a strange affinity with the young changeling, both hunters of sorts and both embodied with gifts that they would probably never fully understand and that would ever be coveted by the greedy and the wicked.


Her mind finally made up she turned from the inn and hurried out in to the fading light, following the deep tracks left by the reindeer in the soft snow. Into the forest she followed, careful to avoid any of the halfling‘s traps. Fresh deer tracks and a broken twig here and some ripped up foliage there marked easily the reindeers passage and if the snow held off she would have no trouble tracking them, it was the catching up to them that was her main concern, although raised by elves she had not their pace and if Wenda and her deer did not rest, there was little hope that she would catch up at all.

Hope is with us!

Again it was Stamo’s words that echoed in her mind and although she could not yet see what hope he spoke off she held to what little she had and hurried on hoping beyond hope that she could find Wenda and convince her to return to the relative safety of the inn.. at least until an adequate plan could be devised to see off this evil.

[piosenniel]

As wren rested for a moment on the tip of a snowy fir, yet a second noise caught his ear, as if something were following behind the reindeer he pursued. The little bird pushed in among the shadows of the needles and stayed very still. ‘What if it’s that creature?’ he thought to himself. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he muttered, shivering a bit. He was alarmed to find that his slight movement had shaken a bit of the snow down from his perch.

He watched with a horrified fascination as the falling flakes trailed down toward the floor of the forest, some of them falling on a cloaked figure below. He held his breath and snapped his eyes shut just in case the fading day’s light would give him away somehow.

Then a certain realization poked at his thoughts and he opened his eyes wide as the figure passed on beneath him. It was a rather smallish figure. Not that the wightish one need be large, but this one seemed fairly unimposing. And it didn’t glide along above the ground as he supposed a wight might do. No . . . there were definitely bootmarks in the snow.

Wren flitted on to another perch in front of the new figure. A low branch, hardly one wing’s span above the pursuer. He peered hard at him . . . No! Her! It was one of the women from the Inn.

His little bird’s brain began to put two and two together . . . or at least one and three. One of those reindeer was Wenda! And this other had gone after her. Now what was that name he’d heard the other two-leggeds call her? ‘Think, you addlepate!’ he chided himself. ‘Mara!’ That was it.

He was now in a quandary. What would a hero do? Should he follow them further to see their destination? What? What? In the end, he decided his little version of hero would need assistance. He knew the general direction the two women and the reindeer were heading. And he would be of no use if they were to be attacked. One cold look from the creature’s eyes, he imagined, and his stiff little body would be found feet up on the snowy ground. In the end he opted to fly back with all the speed he could muster to find Owl.

‘Owl! Owl!’ he cried, a bit surprised to find the old bird nearly to the forest himself. ‘You must turn round and tell the tall men I’ve seen Wenda and two of her deer crashing through the forest and behind them is the other woman following after them it seems . . . Mara.’ He gave Owl a bird’s eye description of where the women were and what direction they were headed. He stomped about on the branch he’d perched on waiting for the other bird to answer, all the while thinking that while Owl sped back with the news, he’d best be back on his way to keep an eye on those females . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Owl fumed and fussed, dismayed that he hadn't been careful enough to keep his presence hidden from Wren. Worse than that, the small bird now seemed determined to follow the reindeer and the woman! For one instant, Owl considered ordering Wren to go back to the Inn, while he continued chsing after the fleeing party. But one look at Wren's perky eye and cheeky demeanor told him this wasn't likely to work. Determined to prove his worth, Wren would sneak back, and no one at the Inn would have the slightest idea what was going on. Owl decided to give in, but not without a getting in a shot or two.

"I don't like this. I don't like it at all, Wren. You shouldn't have left without my permission. And now you've put us in a very hard place. Yes, indeed. Someone should fly back to the Inn.....someone responsible who is articulate and aware of the gravity of the situation, someone who can impress upon the two-leggeds how they must help. Presumably that someone is me. You must follow these silly creatures, and not let them out of your sight. But you had best stay well hidden. No one is to see you, and you are absolutely not to speak with anyone, or it will go very poorly with you when you return to the Inn. Do you understand me?"

Owl drew himself up to his full height and spread out his wings, taking off in the direction of the Inn. It was not long before he saw the outline of the Green Man Free House. Coming into the courtyard, he alit on the window ledge and again banged strenuously on the pane, calling out loudly. "Mori, Stamo, where are you two? We are in grave danger. We need your help. Wren is out in the woods, taking on the whole world by himself. He's managed to find Mara and the deer fleeing northwards some distance from here."

Owl quick reported on where the women were and exactly what direction they were going. "Please come quickly," he pleaded. "You can follow me. Just give me one minute to arouse that rascal Tevildo. I promised to tell him if I found anthing unusual. I don't suppose I could persuade one of you to let him ride on your shoulder? I know that puffball doesn't like to admit this, but he's really a bit small and out of shape. Still, he seems to know a lot about things that go about in the shadows." Owl looked over at the two-leggeds, waiting for a reply.

[littlemanpoet]

Pada, Muna, and Wenda raced deeper into the darkening forest. Wenda smelled fear. She felt the snow and ground beneath her quick hooves. Away, away! Away from the fear! But where were they runnning to? It did not matter. Pada and Muna did not know what Wenda had heard in the stable for two-leggeds. All they knew was that there had been word among them of someone strong, someone akin to ground and snow and tree and thistle, home in the wind and cold. Pada and Muna asked her, What did they say of this someone? A strange and hidden one, this someone, sometimes strong, sometimes not. In winter? In the fear of no-more-running? Strong against fear, weak in winter when all the land is sleeping.

They raced through the ever thickening woods, the dark fir trees closing in around them. But reindeer may pass through the narrowest of ways; all they need is the width of their horns, less if they had no horns. Fleet and silent they moved, their hooves the only sound, passing through thick groves, through quick cold creeks, around ice covered ponds, wending north and up, ever up. The land climbed slowly here, slowly to the feet of the northern mountains.

They paused at twilight. The wind had died. Surely they were far from the fear. The branches of the firs moved around them. They moved again, trotting now, careful of the branches that moved in no wind. They stopped. Eyes. Before and above them. Two of them. Deep green. A long face went with the eyes, and a longer body, with feet that hugged the ground like evergreen roots. It looked at them for a long while. Transfixed, they stared back.

"What have we here?" asked the deep, woody voice. "Three reindeer far from the plains?" It looked closely and carefully at each one of them. "But one of you is more." Its eyes rested on Wenda.

Wenda could not speak to it as a reindeer. She gave off her fur and changed. She was so cold! Now she wished she had not given so to the panic of hte moment, and brought at least a thread of clothing with! She shivered in the cold snow, and folded her arms around her.

"Hmm!" it said. "Like one of our wives."

"Are-" her teeth chattered "-you .... the .... Green Man?"

His eyes seemed to receded into depths of thought. "I do not know of what you speak. What do you fear?"

[Envinyatar]

Stamo appeared to cast his eyes upwards at Owl’s words. Was he sending off some quick plea for strength and assistance? It was hard to tell. But from the quick, sharp look Mori gave him it seemed the tall man’s thoughts might be of a different tenor.

‘Right, then,’ he murmured, fastening his cloak about his shoulders once he’d stood up. He handed Mori’s cloak over, and stood holding their staffs as his companion buckled the clasp and pulled it round about him to his satisfaction.

‘We’ll follow after you, Master Owl,’ Mori said, taking his own staff in hand. Owl perched on his shoulder as they went out into the kitchen’s courtyard. Tevildo was there, keeping watch from his perch on the stone wall.

‘You take the cat!’ Stamo whispered low to Mori. He placed Owl on his own shoulder for the moment and urged his friend forward toward the feline. ‘Makes me sneeze,’ Stamo confided in a hushed tone to Owl. ‘Something fierce! Wouldn’t want that now, would we as we’re trying to go quietly after the two ladies . . . and the creature?’

[littlemanpoet]

It is not far now. There is an entire dwelling where she has gone. My appetite is increasing again. You have become quite akin to cartilage, my dear former village chieftain. Most tasty of all the souls, what with your courage mixed with all that delectable fear. Quite nice.

Not as nice as the veritable banquets of ages agone when My Lord still sat the Throne. Those were the days. Did I tell you I was his chief chef? I did? Well, I never tire of telling my quarries about it. Those were indeed the days. Have you ever tasted an Elven Fëa? Nothing like it. Oh, and the recipes I created. My Lord rewarded me well. Basting, roasting, broiling, filleting of fëar, so many different ways to prepare them for My Lord's table. Spices of all kinds: threats, false promises, stories of rapacious deeds done to kindred. I became fat upon the rich fare. And My Lord was most appreciative of even of the refuse from my dishes. There were orcs from the Elves and trolls from the Ents. Dwarven and Human refuse did not seem to keep well enough. The former hardened to naught but blasted stone while the latter shriveled and fell to ruin, their fëar slipping away to we knew not where. Just as yours is sure to do. And that is what makes me so famished! I need something more lasting. That is why I seek her. She is double-fëa. They are rare.

But lo! She runs away from the dwelling. Then we must turn aside, you and me. Do not look at me that way. I know it seems painful now, but you will fade away to nothing and then be free of pain forevermore. Some of my kind say that you will go beyond the walls of the world, but I do not think so. There is not enough to you.

See you the small sparks of fëar in the trees and slipping along the ground, thinking they are hidden from me? Silly little scraps of nothing. Too small to be more than a mere after dinner sprig of mint. They hide as if I seek such drivel. Silly.

But ah! There is somewhat other at that dwelling! How did I not see it before. And two of them! And now they seem to be moving in the same direction as the double fëa! I do believe that I know them! Strong fëar, these! Indeed, I do believe that they may be just the answer for my famished appetite. You are a mere bone the marrow of which has been sucked dry. I need you no longer. I have new quarry - most delicious! - to hunt down. Oh, the delightful recipes I can try! The spices to be used! What means would work best for their preparation? Basting? What stories do I know? What despair can I set into their minds? We shall see, we shall see!

[Tevildo]

Tevildo did not want to be left out of the adventure and reluctantly agreed to have the men carry him wherever they were going. Still, he had not been pleased that he would be toted along like a piece of spare baggage. Even after Mori picked him up, Tevido had trouble finding a comfortable place to perch. He had tried sitting on one shoulder and then the other, but the tall man had objected when Tevildo's claws had extended down into the thick folds of his robe scratching the soft skin underneath. Mori had finally agreed that the best thing Tevildo could do was to crawl inside his large pouch and stick his head up, peering over the edge.

The ride was uncomfortable and bumpy. The men paid the cat little attention as they strode briskly towards the north. Once or twice, Tevildo had started a bit of mild caterwauling, objecting to the fact that the men were not showing him adequate care or respect. Mori and Stamo were apparently oblivious to his discomfort, and, despite his pleas, all he’d gotten in return had been a stern glance and an admonition to be quiet. Miserable and bored, he’d finally fallen asleep in the pack.

Dreams claimed Tevildo quickly…..deep, disturbing dreams of the ugly creature who had so terrified him long ages before. First, he was doing the hunting, tracking down the miserable creature and his minions but too quickly the tables turned, and he had become the hunted. Deep shadows reached out to grab him, threatening to pull him apart from ear to tail and leave him limp and lifeless. With great effort, the cat pulled himself up to consciousness and slowly pried open one eye, grateful that he was intact and breathing and alive.

The thing must be gone. Tevildo purred in relief, kneading his claws into Mori’s back out of the sheer joy of being alive. But then he waited and listened. At the far edge of his awareness, in the mysterious recesses of the mind that warn a hunter what creatures are up and about, Tevildo again felt the heavy presence. Only it did not seem to be directed at him, but rather at the tall two-leggeds. Strangest of all, the thing was in back of them and, though distant, seemed to be getting closer.

Tevildo’s fur stood completely on end. He leapt out of the pouch and bounded upward, this time landing on Mori’s head, unsheathing his claws and hanging on as tightly as he could, while shouting out a warning. “You, fools, Mori and Stamo. Do something. This thing is following us…..maybe one, maybe two. I do not know what it is. But it is dark and heavy, and it seems particularly interested in the two of you.”

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda drew Pada and Muna close to her sides and hugged them, then proceeded to tell the Ent, as he called himself, of her fear. With many a hoom and hom and haroom and even a harumph, he listened to her whole tale, with a few sprinkled in encouragements not to be hasty despite her chattering teeth. Finally she finished.

"Hoom! Hom! One thing I would like to ask you, Wenda skin changer."

"What is that?" she stuttered.

"Does your kind turn blue? I have never seen it before."

"O-only when we are too cold."

"Hoom! Then maybe it is time for haste. Hm yes! I think you should return to your other shape."

"But th-then I won't-t b-be ab-ble t-to t-talk-k!"

"Hoom now. Nor will you for long in the shape you wear!"

Wenda saw the sense of the Ent's words, and turned to her two friends. It always helped to think of them when she turned.

"Mm-hm!" nodded the Ent. "You will live. Now, I must spend some time thinking about what to do." The Ent lifted his eyes and looked over the heads of the three reindeers. "There is someone coming. No, do not fear! Oh no, room hoomty room toom! I think this is not the shadow you fear. Oh no, room toom. Let us wait and see who comes."

Wenda, Pada, and Muna turned and looked the in the direction the Ent was calmly looking. Coming between the firs was a hooded figure, dressed warm against the cold, whose breath came as if having used much strength to move as quickly as able. Wenda knew the shape of the figure. It was Mara. Wenda trotted forward to greet her.

[Arry]

‘Do you think they will fare well?’ Willem had gotten himself and Old Goody a cup of tea each. Hers he had laced with a little of the spirits the cook had got down from her shelf. ‘Might ease her up a bit,’ cook had confided to him, though for the life of him he could not understand what needed easing.

‘The big folk,’ he went on in explanation as she turned her face toward him. ‘They’ve gone after Miz Wenda and Miz Mara.’ He frowned for a moment, looking down into the depths of his tea as if to find answers. ‘At least I think that’s where they’ve gone.’

‘Funny, isn’t it?’ he said after a gulp from his steaming mug. ‘How the owl seems to be talking to them and then he listens, too, as they talk in that pretty language.’ He nodded his head as a few of the words in Quenyan that he’d caught ran through his mind. He tried them out on his tongue, smiling as he got them round to how he thought he’d heard the two tall mean speak them.

‘There are places along The Great River . . . up where it narrows, near the northern mountains, where the white barked aspen trees grow.’ He knew he was rambling now, but it was pleasant to do so and it took his mind from the looming dangers in the shadows beyond the village wall. ‘In the autumn, their leaves turn all of a golden color. And when the cold breezes blow they shimmer in the pale sun and rustle prettily. And sometimes it seems behind the touch of leaf on leaf there are the sounds of some fair voices singing one to another, in some old tongue just barely out of hearing.’ He chewed on the corner of his lip, a habit of old, as he recalled the images of those trees against the dark mountains.

‘The words the tall men used . . . they reminded me of that,’ he said. ‘Trees in their last glory before the cold of winter shook off their leaves and covered them with snow.’

[Undómë]

Goody sniffed her mug of tea and nodded at what the rising steam had told her. She raised her head and saw Cook standing just to the side of the doorway from the kitchen. Before the woman could duck out of site, Goody raised the mug to her lips and took a sip, giving the woman a wink as she did so. Though, once the cook was out of sight, she sat the mug on the hearth to keep warm, knowing it was most likely she would drink no more of it.

‘Do you think they will fare well?’ Willem’s question brought her attention back round to him; she watched him as he spoke. And she could just barely hear the flow of words he tried out in that tongue the two old masters had spoken. ‘Or perhaps “old Lords”,’ she thought. Not Elvish lords, though they had that other worldly sense about them. As if they trod here on this familiar ground her own feet rested on, and yet stepped lightly, too, in places just beyond her reckoning. Lords of some power and of grace who saw fit to keep those under their charge safe. ‘And with whose bidding do they come?’ she wondered. Not from twisted shadowed halls, there was too much of light shone in their eyes and in their aspect.

‘Yes, I think they will fare well, Willem.’ She gave him that simple answer and kept the reasonings to herself.

‘And you . . .,’ she went on, giving him a wide smile. ‘That was a lovely image you conjured for old Goody. ‘And though my eyes have never beheld such trees, yet your words brought them right to life. I could see and hear them truly.’ She leaned back and gave him a long sideways look as if taking his measure. ‘You would make a great story-teller, you know!’ She nodded and cackled a bit at her new image of him. ‘In the great lords’ halls I’ve heard tell they’re called bards and have places of honor at the table. They wander, these story-tellers and collect bits and pieces of things they’ve seen or heard about and weave them into stories and songs.’

She poked at the fire, stirring up the flames. ‘Yes, I could see you doing that . . .’

[Nerindel]

Mara’s Relief was apparent as she stepped out from between the firs and looked up to see a young Reindeer trotting boldly towards her, it was not in the nature of these fast fleeted creatures to do so, so at once she knew that she had found the young skin-changer she had been so ardently tracking.

“Wenda” she greeted, as a mixture of fear and anxiety that had tormented her on discovering the horrifically mutilated corpse of a full grown buck someway back now melted away, replaced by the almost overwhelming joy that the young changer was alive and well, if still not entirely safe in her mind.

“I thought ….” she paused looking back into the darkness of the forest behind her, recalling the torment mirrored in the unfortunate creatures dead eyes, “Well it doesn’t matter what I thought you are here and well, but you should have never…..” she was about to admonish Wenda for running off like she did when she suddenly had the feeling of being watched, she looked up to see a pair of deep green eyes peering out at her from beneath thick evergreen brows.

She stared her eyes wide with astonishment and wonder as half remembered songs sung by the elves of her forest home danced in her mind, they told of a time when the elves and the trees of the forests would commune, sharing both knowledge and lore, so that not much happened within the forest realms without tree or elf knowing it. But that was long ago, ages past and it was said that many grew root and became bitter and twisted, to which many of her foster kin attributed to an old enemy they named Morgorth, who despised and sought to corrupt the beauty of Yavanna’s gardens and that now only the Tree herders could control and subdue the bitterness sown within the hearts of those trees. She had thought these songs no more that fairytales sung purely to intrigue and entreat the revealers at feast, but here before her stood in all it’s greenery was proof that the shepherds of the forests truly existed.

“, A Friend, Wenda Skin changer?” The Ents deep woody voice rumbled, suddenly breaking Mara’s awed silence. That as Wenda nodded, she again found her voice.

“A friend I am, my name is Maranwe of the Greenwood.” she introduced herself.

“Hoom Hom A name of the old tongue yet you are no elf! room hoomty room toom!”

“ Indeed no, orphaned as a small child the elves took pity, naming and raising me in the manner of their own, but if I may master Ent by what name should we address you?”

“Hoom, the Names of Ents are long and take a long time to say, but you are a hasty folk, Mm-hm Greenbeard I was once named, haroom, yes I think that will do now.”

“Then well met master Greenbeard, but I do not think we should linger over long here, a Darkness hunts in this forest, it’s prey I fear already marked.” her hand reached sympathetically to stroke Wenda’s deep fur in an attempt to allay what fears her words would bring the young skin changer.

A dull throbbing had began to press at her temples, as Greenbread urged her not to be hasty, but she was already thinking ahead, if she had managed to track Wenda then so to could this thing she had thought anxiously and she told Greenbeard and Wenda so. But perhaps Greenbeard was right, perhaps if she had been less hasty she may have thought to cover their tracks better, but there was no changing that now so she thought it best not to dwell on it.

She then asked Greenbeard if he knew of somewhere they could at least rest for awhile and think about what they would do now, her plan had been to convince Wenda to return, but now she was unsure weather they could do so safely. The throbbing increased and she winced, rubbing at her temple as she waited for Greenbeard to reply.

[Envinyatar]

‘If you shout a little louder,’ hissed Mori, prying the cat from his scalp, ‘perhaps you can tip the creature to the fact we know he’s following us.’ Stamo took the protesting Tevildo from his companion’s hands and placed it on the ground.

Crouching down, the two men spoke quietly with Tevildo and with Owl. ‘We know he is hungry for us,’ Mori began. ‘He has turned his attention on us for some time now. We can feel his need; the rapacious desire for our fëar. And it is better that he follow and find us than those two unarmed women.’

‘It would be most helpful to us,’ Stamo continued, ‘if somehow news of what is happening could be gotten to Mistress Mara and to Mistress Wenda. Though at the moment, I am at a loss as to how to accomplish that.’ He looked to Mori. ‘It would be best I think if we two did not separate, but met the creature in tandem.’

Mori nodded his head at this. His gaze slid to where Owl sat on a downed tree trunk. ‘We are unfamiliar with this place and this forest, is there something you can think of that might be of help to alert the women?’

Tevildo sat on the fir needled floor of the little clearing where they had stopped, his ears twitched and his keen nose took in the scents carried by the breezes. ‘And you, Tevildo,’ Stamo asked, ‘what do you wish to do. Stay with us or follow along after Owl?’ He looked in the direction from which they’d come. ‘We mean to keep ourselves between him and his other prey.’

[littlemanpoet]

Pada, Muna, and Wenda watched and listened to Mara and Greenbeard talk. Wenda felt safe. Safe like she had not felt since that fateful day far to the north when she had chased the wolves away from the tusker. She was not sure that Greenbeard could stand against such a foe as the wraith that followed them, but somehow it did not matter so much.

"Hoom now," Greenbeard said, "the safest place I know of, hoom hom." His eyes seemed to twinkle as if with light reflecting upon two pools of water. "Why, the safest place is Fir Hill, my home. It is not far from here. Would you like to go there?"

"Master Greenbeard," Mara said, holding her head, "your legs are long and mine are short. How far is not far?"

"Hoom now! That is a good question! It is one thousand Ent strides, not for at all. But for you, room toom, it might be a long way."

Mara sagged and winced. She was quite tired, and the pain in her head did not lessen. "I think it would take me all night."

"Hoom hom roomba hom! That will not do. Wenda and her friends can keep up well enough. Maybe it would be best if I carry you. What do you think of that?"

[Tevildo]

The cat glared at Mori and quickly responded, "I think I shall stay with you. With all respect good sirs, you have far greater power than I have. I think I would feel safer here. Even more importantly, I would rather not spend long, tedious hours in the company of that stuffed shirt Owl. " Tevildo made sure to lower his voice so Owl would not hear either of these comments.

With the difficult part out of the way, Tevildo stretched and walked over to a nearby puddle, spending some time admring his reflection by the light of the moon. Then he began to purr in satisfaction. "You know, I do have one modest advantage over you two. Having some understanding of the darker ways may be an asset here. I know how a creature like this thinks, and I may be of some service to you in this regard."

With that, Tevildo gave a quick bow and leapt up on the two-leggeds's shoulder disappearing into the depths of his satchel. He curled up contentedly and, within a moment or two, quickly fell asleep.

[littlemanpoet]

The shadow dropped the corpse and moved swiftly through the dim blacknesses of the variegated, intricate designs rendered into matter. Why did that One waste such effort on such uselessness? He never had understood that, had never cared to think on it. There was too much hunger, too much to please the pallate. And not far ahead now were the two of his own kind. He was hungry. He passed through the silent, dark, shadowy firs with their overly intricate designs (what use?), starving for such strong taste as these two offered.

There they were! He bloated and grew large to instill fear, for fear rendered the best delicacy to a nicety. The had perceived him. All the better. Fear me!

[Child of the 7th Age]

Stamo had written out a simple note on a small strip of pine bark, using a stone stained with soot to inscribe the letters and a picture. Then he had tied the message onto Owl's leg using a thin leather thong. Stamo was not sure whether Wenda or Mara would be able to read his simple words, but the sinister image of a dark shadow hanging over the trail just behind the two robed men would hopefully convey the basic idea to the women. If they were lucky, Wenda might even be able to understand Owl's speech.

With deliberate, powerful strokes, Owl made his way towards the north. Keeping close to the ground, he flew from perch to perch, carefully scanning the area for any sign of a small pack of reindeer followed by a human woman. The far North was home to Owl, and he was familiar with the territory and all the twists and turns of the forest and hills. He had been flying steadily for more than an hour when he glimpsed a small band of travellers, now off the trail and cutting over the fields.

Owl could see the reindeer and the human. More puzzling, however, was the tall treeish character who strode purposefully along the path, carrying the woman on his shoulder. Owl pulled up onto a branch overhead, wondering what to do. Could this gigantic figure be trusted, or was he an emissary of one of the dark shadows, the evil creatures that Tevildo described with such hard and bitter words? For one moment, Owl hesitated until he noticed that the animals and woman seemed content, even thankful, to be in the presence of the large tree thing.

Gliding down from the branch, Owl landed on the ground in front of the group and began to cry out in a loud voice: hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh. He held out his leg with the message attached and hoped that someone would understand his words: how a dark and fearsome presence had crept up the path in back of the two-leggeds and now threatened to overtake them.

[Nerindel]

Mara had graciously accepted the Ent’s offer to carry her but almost at once she regretted her decision, as each giant step shook through her causing the pain in her temple to grow worse still. The sounds of the forest seemed to magnify, from the sound of hooves on soft snow, to the creaking of branches swaying on the wind, even the wind itself seemed to scream at her that something was ill. Then all of a sudden the forest went still and darkness rose up to met them, but still Greenbread walked on. Mara did not like this silence it reminded her ominously of her last vision and she did not like it one bit.

‘hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh.’

Mara started at the sudden call in the darkness, then smiled as the Owl soared into view and came to landed before them, that one voice in the chill cold of the night gave her comfort.

“Ho Hum What is this I think wise master owl has something he wants to share Hoom rom” Greenbread rumbled as he lowered Mara carefully to the ground.

“I think you may be right” she replied noting the bird holding out its leg and hopping up and down excitedly hooting words that she could not understand.

“Something about a dark and fearsome presence and um some two -leggeds” Wenda said softly coming up beside her.

Mara turned surprised to see that the young skin changer had shrugged off her Reindeer form and stood now shivering in the cold, quickly she unclasped her winter cloak and wrapped it about Wenda’s shoulders.

“You look pale” the young woman noted.

“And you look like you will catch your death” she replied warmly

“I will be fine” she assured Wenda when the young woman merely frowned. “Now lets see what our wise friend is so eager for us to see.

Bending down she carefully relieved the bird of the bark attached to its leg and stood next to Wenda so that she could read it too. Black marks were carefully scratched across its surface, making runes similar to those she had learned from the elves, she recognised enough to know or at least guess at was written, but even if she hadn’t the picture sketched into the bottom made it very clear.

“It’s Mori and Stamo, they say they are in the forest and that the dark shadow is with them, they plan to draw it off, we are to find somewhere safe if we can and they say not to come back this way it is dangerous, they will find us when they can.” the two women looked at each other, their concern for the two men mirrored.

“They are more than they seem, I‘m sure they will be ok” Mara said finally though her words held little conviction. She felt Guilt, perhaps if she had told someone where she was going things would be different… or perhaps it would have been worse… well there really was no point dwelling on what was done or what could have been, what was done was done and nothing could change it, all she could do now was keep Wenda safe as she had planned and carry out the wishes of the two men.

As much as she wanted to go back and help, she knew this thing was beyond her and that keeping it from the young changer was all she could do right now. At least her gift would allow them to stay one step ahead of it or at least she hoped it would.

No sooner had the thought left her mind than a searing pain burned through her temples and she crumpled to her knees, her eyes rolled and her breathing became soft and shallow and she appeared in a trace of some kind.

The forest drew in around her, filled with a cold bitter darkness…..Fear Me! The words echoed in her mind filling her with such terror that she had never felt before. But in the still of the darkness was a light and as she listened a faint whisper of music carried on the air for a moment then was lost. A roar like thunder filled with anger and malice reeled up upon the light threatening to smother it, she cried out but no sound came. But wait something else moved behind the darkness shadowing it, a glint of metal and then it was gone . Another roar of frustrated anger………..

[Rose]

The great hound sped swiftly across the snow, slipping quietly beneath the outstretched branches of the firs as he reached the outer edges of the forest. This way! he told himself setting nose to ground to take up the scent of those he followed. A subtle scent, to be sure. But he found no difficulty in picking it out from all those which trailed across it.

He kept his eyes and ears alert. There was another scent, lingering in the night air. Foul it was, as if some bloated and decaying thing moved in his same direction. His hackles raised at the dark, evil stench of it, and in the ancient memories of his kind he felt a loathing and a hatred rise up against the curséd presence.

White Paw moved along the outskirts of this odious creature's path. Brave and big as he was, he knew he was no match for it. That must be left to those more powerful than he.

In caution, he’d circled around the two objects of his hunt, and now he came into their presence, just as the first surge and swell of shadowy fear crept toward them. They looked at him askance, but he walked slowly forward and stopping only a pace or two away, lowered his head as if in a bow.

My father sent me. To be your hound. To aid in the hunt and in the kill as I can.

He sniffed the leaden breeze, and bared his teeth at what it told him.

Seems, though, your quarry will soon find you. Still, as I heard you say, in the courtyard, you are your Master’s hounds . . . and in like will I be yours to see this hunt through to whatever doom may come for good or ill.

[Envinyatar]

Fear me!

An ocean of darkness spread over the forest floor. What once was white snow took on an inky hue. And even the thick trunked, tall trees were no proof against it. Miasmic waves rolled higher and higher, one upon the other, until even the fading light of evening was threatened to be quenched by it.

The two companions drew together; the hound gathered in close against them. Their backs pressed lightly together. Each held up the staff they’d brought; the fingers of their left hands wound tight about the thick dark wood of them. And all the while their open right hands were held shoulder high, palm outward, fingers standing tall together . . . the gesture of dispelling fear. In the eastern lands from where they’d journeyed it was the outer expression of their inner resolve. Their minds were calm; their breath steady. What light was left above them as the stars winked out glinted in their bright grey eyes.

Words hung in the air about them, though their lips seemed not to move. Soft, susurrant sounds like murmuring waves at first . . . gentle, almost, which pushed inexorably against the shadowy fear. They came more rapidly, then, in tones great and stern; the intricate syllables seeming much like the glitter of swords, like the rush of leaves in a great wind or the fall of stones in the mountains.

Akašân! they said as one. ‘He says!’

So be it . . . Akašân! they affirmed, the final n-sound sliding softly into silence.

They stood as stone, their eyes watchful, and about their still forms played a subtle and exquisite power.

[Tevildo]

It was not the strange words of the two-leggeds that wakened Tevildo, nor the ocean of darkness that had by now masked the forest floor. He slept on, curled in a tight ball at the bottom of the satchel, seemingly oblivious to the dense cloud of fear that encircled their heads in this small piece of Arda. Tevildo had lived too long in the fortress of Melkor. Although cats are not natural agents of evil, their fëar have often been blighted by living constantly near shadows so that Tevildo, like many of his kindred, was no longer able to sniff out the right from the wrong as quickly and boldly as his two hosts had done.

Still. in his heart, Tevildo was all cat, the bad and the good intermingled, a creature of grace and beauty who faithfully followed the instincts that had been planted in his heart when the music of creation was sung. And those instincts were still quite strong. Predictably then, the slobbering and soft yips of the hound were what roused him from the bottom of the satchel. He pushed his head up and peered outside. He did not like the shadow creature. Yet he was singularly exempt from the fear that held sway over the dog and the two-leggeds. It was simply not in his nature to be afraid of shadows. They are too much a part of any cat's world.

What unsettled him most was the dog. Where had that dratted animal come from? For one moment, Tevildo considered defecting to the opposition. He had done that on more than one occasion when the odds did not look terribly good. At least, the shadow thing had enough sense not to bring a dog with him. And in all his many lives, Tevildo had never agreed to work in tandem with any hound. But the hard memory of what the torturer had done to his young kinsmen and the realization that the shadow creature had become even more demented in the intervening years made him reluctant to switch sides.

For now, he decided, he would remain tucked in the pack, but keep a close eye on the situation. Mori and Stamo could perhaps handle things on their own as long as the dog did not stupidly get in their way. If events deteriorated and the shadow thing threatened to devour them, he could emerge from his hideaway and throw his expertise as a creature of semi-darkness against Melkor's old servant. Tevildo was so calm that not even his fur stood on end. Poking his head out, he surveyed the surrounding landscape with the calm eyes of a hunter, while all the while his tail flicked menacingly back and forth inside the confines of the small satchel.

[Undómë]

An unearthly silence fell about The Green Man, indeed about the little village itself. It was not that those who dwelt there nor their animals nor even those structures themselves whose unloosed shutters banged against the wooden sides of the houses had suddenly gone still, become quiet. It was that sound itself seemed sucked from the little region which lay outside the forest.

The harmonies of ordinary lives were disrupted, the music broken. And all the little notes, inflections, refrains, the measures, and their resonance now flew through the empty air . . . tumbling over one another as they fell forward toward the awful vacuum of the creature’s bloated presence.

In the common room, a sudden backdraft from the chimney made the fire burn low, nearly down to the glowing embers, and even those were threatening to go out. Old Goody bade Willem throw open the shutters for a moment as she pushed and pulled on the damper handle.

‘Now throw on some of those shavings and that little pile of kindling, lad,’ she directed him as he ran back to help her. ‘And pile the rowan and holly ‘pon it as well!’

Breaths were held and even the beat of hearts seemed to pause as the Halfling’s and the old woman’s attentions were focused on the fire . . .

[Arry]

Willem found himself crossing his fingers behind his back as the flames drew down lower and lower into the embers. He’d piled on the shavings and stacked the kindling just so. Over it all the holly and the slender rowan branches had been placed, all at the nodding of Goody.

‘Please, please, please . . .’ he found himself whispering. Just as he had done those years past when he was a little boy wanting something to turn our right. ‘If I never get another thing,’ he mouthed toward the fireplace, as if his request might fly up the chimney with the smoke, ‘then let this be the one thing.’ He closed his eyes and wished again, and then once more.

Third time’s the charm . . .

He could remember his Gran saying that. And as the last of his little vows left his lips, he leveraged open one eye.

Willem gasped as the first fingers of flame poked up through the piled wood. They wrapped themselves about the curled shavings, the slender limbs, and crushed them greedily in their scorched fists. At the heart of the log, the embers began to glow and waver in the increasing heat.

‘The Yule Log, Granny! It’s going to be alright now. All of it . . .’

The Hobbit uncrossed his fingers, bringing his hands round in front of him. He rubbed them carefully, working the numbness and tingling from them as the blood coursed through them now without hindrance.

‘Going to be alright, now . . .’

[Rose]

He strained his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness as it rolled up and round them. How was he to face an enemy if he couldn’t catch sight of him? He looked up at the men. They seemed to be concentrating on something.

Was their eyesight better than his? Perhaps so, His father told him they were more than men, really. But since he had nothing by which to judge that, having known only those two-leggeds at the inn, he could not say one way or the other.

His father, too, had told him the old stories. Of the great hounds that had ridden with the Hunter in those long gone days; following the call of his sky splitting horn, running hard, their red tongues lolling over great, sharp teeth as they pursued the shadow creatures. The Hunter loved his hounds, his father had said.

No, the Hunter loves his hounds. That’s what he had said.

White Paw looked up at his companions, alert to any signals they might give him. At this moment, in this time, they were his pack members. Where they led, he would follow; what they asked he would do. His nose, teeth, speed, and cunning – all in the service of the pack.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest. He stood stiff legged, hackles raised. Waiting…..

[Undómë]

Goody turned her head toward the Halfling as he whispered his plea. And saw the look of relief as the flames took hold and the embers brightened. ‘Be careful with your charms and words, Master Willem. The fire that turns the year feeds on such little vowings and remembers, even if you do not.’

She smiled fondly at him. ‘Still, ‘twas said with a generous heart. For all of us. We thank you.’

The old woman turned back to the fire. Her face seemed more tired and worn. Hot as they were now, the flames did not seem to warm her, but instead seemed to draw out her little store of energy. Leeching her until she seemed almost translucent; the shadowings of her bones moving or still beneath her pale, drawn skin her only solidness.

She too whispered low as the embers flickered and shifted in their dance of renewal.

Hunter, Rider . . .
Lord of Trees, Master of Hounds . . .
Winter’s Lord, Woodland Spirit . . .
We smaller spirits call to you

Speed now to us on silver shod with gold
And recall some pity for us in our need.

[Nerindel]

Arato

Within the swell of growing darkness another shadow stalked, moving soundlessly between the great towering trees that crammed the valley’s lower slopes. Intent and filled with purpose it moved cautiously shadowing the creature as it lustfully advanced on a prey of it's own. A low earthy hum emanated in his mind, intricately, but subtly blending with the harmonies of the world to shadow his advance from this thing, this dangerous and evil thing! He could no longer in his bitterness name it, no it had forsaken that path long ago and could not turn back, the light of Illuvatar long forgotten, choked and smothered by the soul consuming seed of…. Melekor! Gah! That Name it burned acrid in his mind igniting an anger and hatred of ages past.

But this was not the corrupter no he had seen the dark one banish beyond the doors of night, been part of that very battle, Assailed by dark twisted defilements of his masters creations, orc, troll, dragon he slew them all, but not before one had taken a part of him too! His hand reminiscently traced the lines of the triple scar that marked his left cheek from just below the eye to below his right shoulder. The foolish easily corrupted, he snorted, determinedly suppressing the rage that threatened to boil over into heedless recklessness.

But no less dangerous! he sighed wearily, bending once more to study the marking of this things passage. Snow melted and grasses became dry and course in it’s wake, even the trees did not miss the malice of its ill content. Bark dry and brittle crumbled in his gloved hand, pine needles blanched, plighted by the poison of its passage. Blue eyes narrowed beneath the dark hood of his cloak, it was close he could feel it, sense its lust… its hunger!

Carefully he drew forth Mandur’mak, it’s dark surface would have made it near invisible in the darkness if not for the fine veins of silver, gold and even Mithril that ran through its polished surface, giving it an almost earthy look… like it had been drawn and moulded from the heart of some deep dark mountain.

As he drew close he was stopped by a sudden change in the subtle music of the world, he froze listening intently, recognising the subtle power being employed , his eyes narrowed as ahead he saw a soft light, in which two men… no not men though they wore that mantle, stood warding off this creatures attempt to drive fear into their souls. He grinned recognising the two strangers from the Green man and finally realising who and what they really were he stepped back. Watching and wondering what the creature would do once it realised it’s folly.

It will want to get stronger.. It will want to feast on those weaker than itself! The village! The Inn! he thought at once.

He had been in the stables of the green man that very morning, he had witnessed the shape shifters terrified return.

"Help me!" Wenda had muttered. "It's hunting me! It's coming! It's coming!"

He had know at once of what she spoke for he had not forgotten her recount the previous morning of her first encounter with this thing, in fact it was the very reason he had been in the stable enquiring after a horse. Fully intent to ride north to discover this thing for himself. He had intended to tell Mara of his departure, but the young shape shifters return had hastened his decision and he had left at once through the rear of the stable so as not to be seen. He had headed north through the forest then climbing into the lower hills of the mountain, he found a low shelf where he could see anything that entered the valley.

He had seen it come, or more over he had felt it within the hunkering almost lifeless form of one of the children of Illuvatar, Someone from the northern village Wenda had spoke of? he shuddered at the sight… at the defilement and then left his perch and had been following the creature ever since hoping to find some weakness that he could exploit.

But now realising that the village, The Green man, Wenda, Mara and the others were in danger he fully intended to place himself between them and this thing, so keeping to the shadows and employing the subtle tones that tied him to his surroundings masking his presence he moved to put himself between the creature and the village, rough oaken staff in one hand and Mandur’mak in the other he waited ready to strike.

[littlemanpoet]

There they were. He could smell the strength of their souls. He was so, so hungry! It had been too long since he had feasted on such delectable fare. They stood before him as if sheep before the slaughterer. Oh no, they would not go under the knife of his kindness so gently. Not so quietly, not these. There was much teasing and spicing to be done with these two. Two! Ah, the pleasure!

What was this?

Two staves raised and placed tall in warding. It stung. No matter, merely the bite of an insect to one so deadly as himself. Hands raised, palms outward in warding. They barbed. That was annoying, as a stick hitting him in the face. No prisoners ever dared! Angered, he welled toward them. Syllables silently spoken, issuing sussurations of strength and wellness. They nicked! .... like pieces of metal tied into a whip! There were too many syllables! Too many little nicks, like a swarm of hornets. He flailed against them. Now the whispering gave away to spoken word. Louder, louder! The swarm grew and strengthened into darts flung against him. They were too strong! The darts had turned into myriad points of power in a woven spell that bound him in, cutting off all escape.

No! It could not be!

How could they have become so strong? Stronger than he? No.... they had not become stronger, he realized of a sudden; so long he had lain in his prison of stone, so long had he shrunk in upon himself, hungry, starving, not feeding upon the rich fare of his lord. He had been weakened.

Now he was in danger, for these two were strong! It was not fair! They had no right to attack him when he was so weak!

I must pull away! Pull away!

He was surrounded. No! He must not be imprisoned again! He pulled back, wrenched against the binding, against the stinging points of power.

NO! I will be free!!

With a ghastly tearing, he had flung himself beyond their words; but at a cost. He had had to leave much of his strength tied to their spell words. He fled.

Where shall I go? I need to feed! The twin-souled one! And others with her now! So hungry!

He changed his course and flew through the darkness of the trees - a fearsome shadow before which the beasts cowered in their nightly rounds - across the darksome plains toward a tree-soul, a woman-soul, a few animals, and the twin-souled one. Famished, he sped on.

[Nerindel]

Maranwe

Mara’s eye’s suddenly snapped open, wide with fear. “We must move!” she whispered hoarsely.

“What, What is it” Wenda asked wildly, Mara looked up suddenly aware that the young skin-changer knelt before her shivering, “it’s coming!” she whispered, quickly throwing off her cloak and wrapping it about Wenda’s shoulders and helping her to her feet.

There had been more to her vision much of which she did not yet understand, but what had been clear to her was that this thing had been no match for the two men from the inn and in it’s anger and frustration it was coming after them!

“Greenbeard, this shadow that hunts us, it is a danger to you! are you still willing to take us to this fir hill of yours?”

[littlemanpoet]

"Hoom now, one mustn't be hasty. A danger to me, you say?" Greenbeard strode farther up the slopes, carrying Wenda and Mara, one in each hand, the reindeer trotting behind. "Does it wield an axe?"

"No," said Mara, "it is a spirit of evil! It hungers!"

Many steps the Ent took before he answered. "There is little enough that we can do against such a one," he said at last. "We will go to my home."

The Ent said no word more. Wenda held Mara's cloak about herself tightly, shivering nonetheless. Had Mara meant Mori and Stamo? Had the wraith fled from them? Could it be that they were more than a match for it? Why then was it still free? It did not matter. It was chasing her again, and she was doomed. Of this she was sure. Ever since that moment when she had faced it far in the north, she had known. She had seen this in its eyes. There was no hope for her, and she had been a fool to think there ever was. Why had she run from the Green Man inn? She had only the will to live, deep in her bones, rendering her no different than the beasts. Half beast she was anyway. Sometimes it felt more than half.

The Ent placed her on the ground and she trotted along, keeping pace with Padu and Manu. Thinking like a beast always made it happen. Somehow she felt a little safer this way, doomed though she knew she was. Maybe she could outrun it? No. She looked up. Mara had wrapped the cloak around her shoulders again, having received it from the free hand of the Ent.

Wenda smelled it in the air. It was gaining on them.

[Rose]

The intensity of the creature’s presence had pressed in hard against the hound, despite the efforts of the two tall men. White Paw leaned against their legs for support. Like a mountain they felt to him. Rock hard and mighty in their endurance; their roots delving deep into the earth beneath them. A whirlwind, it seemed, of words swirled round him and the men, pushing back against the dark presence.

He could feel the creature’s struggle to pull back and the sudden withdrawal of it as it strove to flee from the two men. White Paw raised his muzzle and gave a long howl, as if calling the pack to gather.

With a great leap he bounded away from the men and after the creature, calling them to follow.

[Arry]

‘Did you hear that, Granny?’ Willem’s head was cocked as if straining to catch a sound from far off. ‘A howling on the wind.’

His brothers nodded their heads at his question to Old Goody. They too could hear the ghostly trailing of a far off howl. They shivered despite the warmth of the Yule blaze and drew nearer to the fireplace.

As if in answer to Willem, too, there came a keening bay from the Green Man’s back courtyard as the old hound raised up his grizzled muzzle to answer his son’s call. And from the hills came the yips and yowling of their wilder cousins as the thrill of the hunt to come was sung out . . .

[Undómë]

‘Yes,’ she said nodding her head at the flames. ‘The hounds are answering the old call. The hunt is up and rides the night.’ Goody turned her head to look at the solemn-faced Halflings. ‘They are tireless . . . and will hound the prey until ‘tis brought to bay. They never lose the scent, be it man, beast, or spirit. Over dirt and stone, through water and air they chase their quarry.

She gazed dreamily back into the fire and in a soft sing-song voice told part of a long forgotten tale . . .

When the winter winds blow and the Yule fires are lit, 'tis best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and the wild heaths. For those who wander out by themselves during the Yule-nights may hear a sudden rustling through the tops of the trees - a rustling that might be the wind, though the rest of the wood is still.

But then the barking of dogs fills the air, fire flashing from their eyes and the hooves of the great horse strike sparks of gold and silver as he shimmers in the moonlight . . .

[Nerindel]

Arato

Arato cursed silently both in anger and confusion as he saw the creature flee in the opposite direction. For a moment he had been sure it had been snared, but then suddenly it broke free. He had raised both staff and sword ready to prevent it’s passage only to see it flee back the way it had come. It’s anger shaking the trees and renting in the air like a clap of thunder. Then with a sudden howl the dog at the two men’s feet suddenly leapt after it.

“What happened!” he called leaping out from the shadows, racing to catch up to the two Istari who had also took up persuit. “I was almost certain that if it failed here it would try for the inn and the shape shifter?”

[Envinyatar]

Stamo shook off the residual leavings of those words and actions they had done to protect themselves and their two furred companions. An echo of some few words which had but barely pierced through to him as they strove against the creature now came more clearly to the fore. ‘Did you hear?’ he asked as Mori and he strode quickly after White Paw.

Mori nodded his head, his long legs eating up the distance between them and the dog. ‘Someone remembers the old tales and ways, and called on him to come to their aid. Will he hear it on the wind or will it be lost, do you think?’

‘It matters not, I think,’ Stamo answered hurriedly. ‘Since he has sent us, we must step in as needed . . .’

An urgent voice rang out behind them. ‘What happened? I was almost certain that if it failed here it would try for the inn and the shape shifter?’ The two men stopped, waiting for Arato to catch up.

‘It was too weak to overcome us,’ Mori returned. ‘I think it will not go back toward the Inn, at least not at present. The fëar there are too little to nourish it as it needs. But I’m sure it has gone after Wenda now.’ He paused, his brow wrinkling. ‘You did not know, did you? Wenda has left the Inn, changed into her deer form and gone far into these woods. And the other woman, Maranwe, she has followed after. We were hoping to stand between them and the creature . . . to do away with the foul thing. But it would not stay to battle since the win was not assured for it.’

He looked into the thick darkness beneath the trees’ branches. ‘The two women can not stand against it. The creature will suck them dry.’ He pushed Stamo forward with his staff and motioned for Arato to come along. ‘We must find them, and soon.’

[Child of the 7th Age]

After he had finished telling the others of the danger they were in, Owl had quickly tendered his goodbyes and, stretching out his snowy wings, lept into the heavens, making his way back towards the Inn. He could do little to battle the shadow creature. Owl was under no delusions. He had neither the wits or power for such a monumental task. There was no use remaining with the Green Man or even going back to where Mori and Stamo were waiting. He had done what he could for the little wren, but duty beckoned him elsewhere.

Owl had brought the creatures to the back courtyard of the Inn on the eve of Yule to witness the burning of the Log as had been their custom for countless years. Only this time, things had played out differently. He could not help feeling some regret. In a real sense, these creatures were his responsibility. Shadow creature or no, he must make sure that his charges were safe. Owl could never have put these feelings into words, but he felt compelled to fly steadilysouthward in order to revisit the Inn and check to see if all the birds and beasts were safe.

Without the two-leggeds holding him back, Owl covered the ground quickly and soon reached the countryside where the Green Man Free House was located. His first impulse was to drop down to the roof of the Inn and call upon the animals to gather in the courtyard that he might speak with them and know that they were alright. But, as any bird of prey might do, Owl decided to make a short flight first to spy out the land and be sure that there were no unknown dangers lurking on their doorstep. Owl climbed into the air and circled the Inn two times. It was on his second round that he glimpsed a dark shadow spilling over the ground, one some ways distant; he could barely make out its grey outline, but he was sure the shadow was relentlessly advancing in the direction of the Inn. Unike the great creature of shadow that he had glimpsed earlier, this threat was at least somewhat familiar: a pack of ravenous wolves. Why they would be moving during the day and what impelled them to speed forward so quickly, Owl had no idea.

Darting in for a closer look, Owl was overwhelmed by the relentless rage and snarling jaws of the lean grey beasts. These were no ordinary wolves. He could not account for their behavior, but it was unquestionably clear that they were on a collision course with the Green Free Man Inn. His heart thumping furiously in his chest, Owl turned back to the Inn and hooted loudly, trying to convey to the men inside what he had seen. His animals had no trouble understanding what was going on. Immediately, they began crying and braying and bellowing loudly, much to the surprise of the hobbits and the others who were sheltered inside the Inn. Owl was at a loss to know what to do. None of the men seemed to understand him, yet it was imperative that he tell them how much danger they were in.....

[piosenniel]

Wren skittered up and down a low-lying branch of the old apple tree. He flapped his wings and added his piping little voice to the general melee. And yes it was partly from fear, but also from his excitement at a solution that had just come to him.

Frustrated that he could not get owl’s attention, the little bird flew to where the great bird was perched. Owl was tapping furiously at the Green Man’s shutters, trying to get the attention of those inside.

‘Owl! Owl!’ wren cried. ‘Even if they come to look at what’s making so much noise, they won’t understand you. I know where the two tall men have gone. Let me fly quickly and bring them back. Otherwise, the wolves will be upon us before the two-leggeds know what is happening.’

Owl nodded and shooed him off. He would see to the safety of the animals here while wren fetched the men.

~*~

Wren flew as fast as his little brown wings would take him. He shut his mind as best he could to the frightful feeling that crept from beneath the shadows of the trees.

When he at last found the two tall men they were with a third fellow. Wren landed on Mori's shoulder made haste to tell them what was happening. Anxious for his friends back at the Inn and anxious, too, to be out from under the shadows of the trees, he grabbed a few strands of the man's hair and began to fly off, pulling at them as he did so.

[Rose]

The old Inn hound had raised up to a sitting position from his bed of soft rags and straw, awakened by the noise of the other animals and the feeling of fear and apprehension that roiled in the air about him.

Wolves! He shook himself fully awake at the word. And they were bent on attacking The Green Man! The old fellow gave a few low barks just to warm up his throat. Then leveraging his old bones up so that he stood, he raised up his grizzled head and began to bay. Long and deep the keening sound came from him, traveling far afield.

-------

White Paw was hard on the trail of the creature. His strong legs had carried him a ways from his two companions. A sound crept its way into his focused hunt, bringing his head round to the direction from which it came. His eyes glittered in the dim light beneath the trees as he recognized it.

‘Father!’

There was danger at the Inn; his father had given the warning call.

He could not simply run back to the Inn, though, abandoning his two companions to the creature. White Paw wheeled about and ran back to where they now stood with a third man. Legs set stiffly beneath him, he barked out a warning.

[Arry]

Willem drew his chair closer to Granny, nearly huddling right up against her. He knew she was a frail old woman, but there was some sort of strength in her that gave him comfort and eased his fears.

Outside, the animals seemed in a frenzy, and one of the dogs was giving full throat to the problem. ‘What if the creature had turned toward The Green Man?’ he thought to himself, shivering on his chair. His eyes flicked to the fire, and he drew a deep breath seeing that it burned steadily.

‘Granny,’ he whispered, giving voice to his rising alarm. ‘Now what is happening?’

[Undómë]

The fire hissed and crackled along the log. Old Goody rocked back and forth on her chair, not seeming to hear the ruckus going on in the back courtyard. She raised her head at the sound of Willem’s voice. Her brow furrowed as she considered the question, turning her ear to hear what was troubling the Halfling.

‘Seems trouble is heading this way, Willem. What it is I can’t say. Get Carr in here and anyone else in the Green Man. We’d better make the place fast against coming danger.’

[Huan]

Birger had come in to the common room to be near the fire. His chores were done and cook had given him a sweet bun with a cup of hot, strong tea. He’d settled in to enjoy the treat, but now his restful time had come abruptly to an end. The yowling and squawking, the yips and growls that had started just a while ago were now making him more and more fearful. And now here was Old Goody talking about trouble of some sort coming to the Green Man.

He saw Willem get up to fetch Carr. He in turn jumped up and ran to lock the door securely, and began to latch each of the windows tight against any who might try to get in. When he heard the old hound begin to howl, he ran as quick as he could to the back courtyard. He brought the old fellow inside and then went to lock the chickens and the pigs in the shed.

For a moment, he stood in the yard, looking at the animals as they wandered in a frenzy. ‘I wish I could understand you,’ he said, a sad look on his face. ‘But if you can understand me at all, you’d better go hide and be quick about it.’

He hurried back inside, fastening the back door as he had the front.

[Envinyatar]

It was Mori who explained to Arato that danger now traveled swiftly toward the Green Man. ‘No, not the creature, or so this little wren pulling at my hair says. The great owl saw them as he flew back to the courtyard. There is a large pack of great wolves from the north heading directly toward the Inn. Most likely made bold by the stirring evil here.’

Stamo cocked his head listening both to the hound who bayed in the distance and then the furious barking of White Paw when he appeared. ‘And the hound, too. The old one at the Inn, he has sent a message out that the enemy draws near. And his pup here, urges us to come back.’ He eyed the sword which the man carried. ‘I think the hunt for Wenda can be given to you to carry forward . . . yes? It looks as if you might be a match for the foul creature in his present state.’

‘We will return to the Green Man to see to its defenses. You go on after Wenda and Mara and bring them safely back.

[Child of the 7th Age]

We must act. We must act as quickly as we can. Who know's how long it will take the two leggeds to hurry back to the Inn even if little Wren can find them?

With these stern words reverberating through his head, Owl turned to address the other animals who had by now now lined up inside the courtyard, crowding together as tightly as they could. He explained what he had seen outside on the plain and reminded the animals that they would have very little time to act. Once Owl had finished his speech, everyone began squalling and howling at once, nervously inquiring what they must do to protect themselves.

"This is all very well and good, Owl," snorted Old Hedgehog, his squeaky voice rising above the general din, "But at least the two-leggeds are inside. Yet, here we sit in the courtyard, real sitting ducks for any flesh-eater who waltzes by. I beg your pardon, ma'm, of course." Hedgehog offered hasty apologies to two fat ducks who were seated on the far end of the circle.

One of the mice, a mother surrounded by half a dozen babies, nervously squeaked, "Hedgehog is right. We have no protection here, not even a hole in the ground to use as a burrow. Some of us can fight. I know I can. And a few of us can fly away. But we must find a safe hiding place for our little ones who can't leave and who would be too frightened to defend themselves. She glanced down lovingly at her own children who by now were snoozing together in one large pile, oblivious to all danger, their tails and heads intertwined.

"You're right. You're right." others hastily agreed. "But where? Where should we take them? They can't stay here, not out in the open."

"There is that old shack in the woods just off the river." Bear added. "Perhaps we could take the little ones there?"

Owl gave a hoot and solemnly shook his head. "No, I do not think that is a good idea. We must stay together. If we take the little ones to the river, we would have to send good fighters with them, and our strength here would be cut in half. And how do we know these slavering beasts wouldn't turn from the Inn after their attack and immediately make for the old shack, once they get the scent of the place. No, I believe it is better that we make our stand here. Anyways, there is a safe place to hide....that is, as safe as any place can be in these hard times. The larger animals can bed their little ones down in the stable. And the ones who are small...... Well, I am sure they have extra room in the Inn, even if only up in the attic." Owl squinted upward, noting an open window on the topmost floor.

"But will they let us in?" Hedgehog protested. "Animals and two-leggeds just don't mix. It's not as if we were their precious cows and hens that they spend so much time protecting."

"Yes, Owl, perhaps we should wait for wren to return and the other two-leggeds will help us. At least they will understand what we want to do and why we want to do it."

"Humph!" Owl responded. "We must act now. We need to get the little ones safely put away so the rest of us can organize our attack. There's no time to lose! You there, Buck, , lead the young foxes and deer and the other large beasts over to the stable and make a racket until someone opens the door and you can barrel in. The rest of you, come with me!"

A large contingent of baby animals---mice, conies, toads, squirrels, otters, an assortment of birds, and even an ant or two--went scurrying along behind Owl and Bear and mounted the steps of the Inn. Bear pushed against the door of the Green Man and the whole herd of creatures came tumbling into the large common room, much to the astonishment of those inside.

[Envinyatar]

Mori and Stamo, accompanied by White Paw made all haste back to the Green Man. ‘By the One!’ Mori swore, seeing the door to the Inn wide open and hanging slightly askew, or so it seemed. ‘We’re too late! The wolves have entered the place!’

The two men stepped up cautiously onto the little porch, their ears and eyes straining to know who or what they would find. It was curiously quiet, save for what seemed to be the occasional scuffling sound of feet on the wooden floor, the hoot of an owl, and the deep snorting sort of breath bears make . . . and of course the soft little quack-quack that nervous ducks tend to make.

‘What in all creation is this?’ said aloud, as he stepped into the room. A line of animals stood just inside the door. Across the room were the Halflings, the Innkeeper, the Cook, Birger, and any other of the occupants of the Green Man. There were bows drawn, and cudgels in hand, along with a long handled iron skillet, pitchfork, and whatever implement the occupants had found readily at hand.

‘Best we get this door back in place and bolted fast . . .’ he said, taking in the situation. ‘It’s not them that are attacking you,’ he advised the human defenders. ‘More like they’ve come in for shelter against the real enemy.’

‘The creature is on his way here!’ one of the men said in alarm, his pitchfork dropping down to rest on the floor.

‘No, not the creature . . . there is a large pack of wolves come down from the hills. Stirred up most likely by the presence of this foul spawn of Melkor. They are feeling brave . . . and rather hungry for the kill. We’ve come to help you defend against them. Another has gone on against the creature to save Wenda and Mara if he might.’ He made a claming gesture with his hands. ‘Lay down your weapons, please. And let’s get the Inn secured.’ He nodded to Owl. ‘Can you get your folk organized? You know their skills best.’

Mori reached into the satchel that hung at his side and scooped out the cat. ‘And you little master, how are your skills against wolves these days? See how you can help, if you will . . .’

[Nerindel]

Maranwe

As Greenbeard strode on Mara gave more thought to their situation, Greenbeard seemed sure that they would be safe at Fir Hill, but Mara was not so sure. she looked up at the sky recalling Mori saying something about this thing… this shadow having no like of sunlight or was it day, she could not recall but she was certain that he had said that it weakened it in someway and this could only be of an advantage to them. perhaps if only to give them yet again the opportunity to flee!

Maranwe had fought many battles in her young years but she was no fool, she knew this thing was beyond her and more than once since she had left the relative safety of the Green man she wished Arato was with her… she did not know what it was, but whenever she was with this strange mysterious warrior she felt safe, even when faced with the most terrifying of evils his presence was a comfort.

As she thought of Arato, she again pondered on her visions and of what she had seen. Mori and Stamo battling the shadow or at least that is what she assumed they were doing though they bore no visable weapons, but wait had she forgotten so easily the glimmer of light just out of reach of the battle a glimmer like that of a blade edge? Arato? Mara suddenly wondered or was she merely grasping? Perhaps… perhaps not, but if it was her friend with Mori and Stamo then she must find a way to let them know where they were going.

Pulling out the sheaf of pine bark owl had brought them, she carefully stripped off the top layer and with Greenbeards instruction she etched with one of her knifes a crude picture of a lone fir atop a small hill, surrounded by other firs knit together in a wall that enclosed the hill, hoping at least one of them would know the place. Greenbeard seemed to think they would when she spoke to him of her suspicions that all three men seemed something other than what they appeared. Then unclasping the copper brooch fastened to her cloak she quickly slipped the pine note on to it and had Greenbeard stop that she could attach it at eye level to one of the trees.

“Hoom not far now!” Greenbeard rumbled in a lower tone than he had been. She could feel it too an oppressive darkness that weeded it way into her soul rooting out and tugging incessantly at her fears, she glanced down at Wenda. All three deer’s eyes where wide with fear as they glanced nervously together. “Stay close!” Mara called to them, hoping that her voice might reassure them and distract at least momentarily from their fears.

It was not long before they reached the close knit wall of firs that Greenbeard had described and as they drew nearer Mara could see no way for them to pass, suddenly she could hear a low hum, it was coming from Greenbeard then the firs seemed to part admitting the Ent and his companions, before again knitting together behind them.

Greenbeard gently set her down on the ground, there was no snow only a carpet of fallen pine needles, a gentle slope lead to the top of the hill, where underneath a lone pine sat a pool of clear fresh spring water. “Drink” Greenbeard urged them as the reached the pool and they did greatfully. It was cool and crisp and left them surprisingly filled and refreshed and the fear that had tugged at then seemed to have gone when they had passed under the wall of firs.

Mara stared at the wall for a long time there was something about it that reminded her of Arato a feel, a sense, that she could not quite grasp….

“ Hoom This place is special to the trees,” Greenbeard said interrupting her thoughts. “Especially the firs see how they close themselves together to protect it, there are not many of them left but they gather here and take root.” Mara saw a light of sadness in the old Ents eyes as he spoke.

“Do you really expect these trees to hold against that.. that shadow,” Wenda asked as she came beside them, Mara took off her over tunic and gave it to Wenda along with her cloak as the young Shape-changer waited the Ents Reply. But Mara’s thoughts where no longer on whether the firs would hold back any attack, nor whether Arato and the others would reach them on time, but on the Mountains that loomed over fir hill. There had been more to her vision than she had not told the others and as she stared at the white peak of the mountain she knew that what she had seen was near, it would be here and soon and fate would decide! a great fear then welled up inside Mara a fear that she had never known before.


*********************************************


Arato

Arato flew through the darkness, a silent shadow twisting past trees and leaping over stream and brush. He was driven by fear for Illuvatar’s daughters and anger at himself for failing to foresee this new danger!

All about him the forest was silent, a curtain behind which many eyes watched and waited, fearful of the events passing before them, of this shadow, this darkness that threatened to devour their world. He ascended the mountains slope at a dead run, alert for the presence of both the shadow and its intended prey, sensing neither yet, but knowing that they must be close.

He tried to calculate how far ahead of him they might have gotten, but it was impossible to tell. At best, he could only hazard a guess. He knew not how much of a head start the two women had gained and now admonished himself for not asking as much of the brothers before they had left to face the new danger threatening those back at the Green Man.

A darkened trail of death and decay marked his enemies passage, snow melted into thick brown mush, leaves blackened with disease, bark rotted on still living trees. This one cared not if any followed, arrogant in it’s own ignorance, still believing as it’s master had that it’s power, greater than that of Illuvatars children gave it the right to be lord and master over all, that it was better than any that walk this world, that none could contest it’s will! But it had been wrong about that and had paid dearly for it’s mistake, Mori and Stamo would have surely wounded it deeply. ‘but perhaps not dearly enough’ Arato thought bitterly, as his thoughts again turned to the two young women being chased by this thing.

Every few feet deep gouges crossed his path left and right unmarred by the decay. Arato stopped to study one more closely as he realised that there was a regularity to their occurrence. The earth was cut deep as though a tree had been ripped up by it’s roots but not nearly deep enough for it to have been rooted overly long. As he moved outwards from the gouges he noted something else deer prints at least three sets , keeping pace with what ever made the gouges he thought as he followed them on.

Could this be he wondered contemplatively, could it be that young Wenda and her companions managed to find an ally in one of Yavanna’s Guardians? But what of Mara, there was certainly no visible sign that she was with them, though she would have not been able to keep up with the Ent on foot, perhaps it carries her…. But where too he wondered looking out into the vast scope of trees before him.

It was then he noticed it a faint glimmer on the branch of a nearby tree, drawing cautiously forward he realised that it was a reddish copper brooch in the shape of a beech leaf… Mara’s he realised at once plucking it from it’s perch, attached was a tightly rolled up scrap pine bark no words were written upon it but a hastily etched picture of a small hill with a fir tree on top adorned it’s surface.

‘Clever girl!’ Arato grinned, realising from the simple etching where they were heading. Fir hill, he had once heard it called, a sanctuary for Yavanna’s beloved trees, perhaps this night it would serve thus for the two young women!

Slipping the brooch into his tunic, he hurried on hoping that this sanctuary of Yavanna’s would at least keep them safe until he could arrived.

[piosenniel]

Wren flew into the common room in a crazy, wind-milling fashion, tumbling foot over beak as he tried to land on one of the tables. He was quite out of breath and his little heart beat so fast he feared it might burst from his chest altogether.

‘Hurry! Hurry! They’ll be here soon!’ he gasped out. ‘I saw them as they left the base of the hills and entered to short flat plain between there and here!’

He put a wing tip to his chest and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. ‘Have mercy, have mercy!’ he muttered to himself. ‘I could use a little of that good ale to steel my nerves . . .’

[Arry]

‘Fetch the rest of our arrows from upstairs, Madoc,’ Andwise called to his brother. He’d lowered the bow he’d held just moments ago, when he and the others had expected an attack from the animals that now stood quietly in the room as if listening to what was being decided. He still had his eye on the bear, but the big hulking animal was busy now scooping some of the smaller animals toward the center of the room. Herding them, he thought, like a shepherd does those under his care . . . to safety.

‘And you, Willem, take the lad there and see if you can fetch some thin toweling and lamp oil.’ He motioned for Birger to draw near and gave him a few hurried directions.

‘We won’t be much use to you if we fight the wolves straight on. Too small for that,’ he said nodding his head at his assessment. ‘But I noticed when we first came that the Inn has a high gabled roof. If you, Carr, can get a ladder to set up against the eaves, then we’ll go up and defend from above.’

He looked toward the great owl and then at the two tall men. ‘And I had another thought, too . . . that is if the bigger birds would agree to it.’ He rocked a little on his feet, feeling awkward that he should be thinking of using a bird for defense and even more odd that he should be, in a manner, speaking to them about it.

Andwise ran his hand through his curls, pushing away the uncomfortable feelings. ‘Anyways . . . I was thinking that the kitchen probably has some small skin bladders they use for storing liquids in.’ He looked up at the two men, reassured that their attention was on him; that he had not been discounted. ‘If we fill them with cooking oil I thought the larger birds could drop them on the wolves as they charged near the Inn. The oil would soak into their fur. And the touch from a burning arrow would set the beast aflame . . . if we’re very lucky, the flames will spread as the burning wolves bump against the others.’

‘Of course, we can’t burn all of them, but it would surely decrease the number of attackers and distract a number of them, making the remaining beasts more manageable for us . . .’

Andwise’s voice trailed off as he looked about the room from man to bird to beast . . . waiting to see what they thought of this . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hot on the trail.....

The wolves could sense the shadow creature urging their band to hurry forward and join him in the North. A heavy mist had swallowed the surrounding countryside, draping the world in a thick curtain of terror that struck the hearts of all those who came under its dark spell. It was as if each of the two-leggeds in the Inn was called upon to face the secret fear that he or she most wished to avoid. The feelings emenating from the two-leggeds in the Green Man were so strong that the band of wolves had no trouble picking up on that scent.

Spurred on by the call of the shadow as well as the insistent clamoring of their own stomachs, the wolves ploughed greedily forward with noses pointed towards the ground. They had been commanded to join the shadow creature, but the place of the meeting lay far to the North. First, they must stop and feed. The scent of fear and the possibility of fresh meat relentlessly swept them forward.

The tail of the lead wolf swept rhythmically back and forth in anticipation of the bloody feast that he hoped was soon to follow. The trail of the two-leggeds was maddeningly fresh even amid the bracken and fallen leaves. Every step brought the wolves closer to the spot where the Inn nestled against the hillside, seemingly open and defenseless to any attack. Almost as one, the members of the pack veered northward towards the source of the fear, trotting swiftly along the rocky ridges of the hills until they came to the place where a grove of tall oaks stood.

Under the direction of the pack leader Nilak, the band approached this outer grove on silent padding feet; the trees stood less than a quarter mile from the front door of the Inn. Nilak gave the signal to the others to spread out in a semi-circle and crouch low in the grass so that the two-leggeds would not spy them as they approached the Inn. As a low growl escaped from his mouth, Nilak peered out above the line of grass to see who was there and assess the layout of the land.

The moon had slipped behind a cloud: the earth quivered in an eerie stillness. Nilak's shaggy coat, and that of the other wolves, blended in perfectly with the shadows. The only thing that could be seen, even from some paces distant, were matching pairs of greedy yellow eyes blazing through the night. Still, Nilak stood perfectly still, holding back from his attack. He could see tiny lights in the windows of the Inn just ahead, but did not know how many of the two-leggeds the place housed and whether they would be outside in the courtyard. He would wait just a little, until it was perfectly dark, and then surge forward, hoping to find some victims outside the building, perhaps tending to the animals in the stables. After taking care of these, surely more would join them, enough to provide a comfortable meal for all eight members of his band. For now then, he would wait and watch.....

[Huan]

Birger showed Willem to the kitchen and got the cook to help the Halfling with the oil and the toweling. As he left the room he could see Willem showing Cook how to tear the toweling to wrap about the shafts of the arrows, just above the sharp tips.

Carr was on his way outside to fetch the ladder. And Birger followed after him to give a hand. They soon had it in place, leaning securely against the eaves of the house. Birger clmbered quickly up it with a broom and swept a pathway on sloping roof for the Halflings and he to climb up.

He narrowed his eyes as he stood at the top, squinting into the distance. He thought he saw a small dark cloud swiftly moving over the frozen ground and making for The Green Man.

He found the Halflings ready with their bows and arrows as he re-entered the inn. Birger grabbed a small bucket of flaming coals and tinder and followed them out the door as they left. They would dip their arrows, Andwise told him, into the heat and set them aflame.

The Halflings handed him their quivers to put on once they reached the roof. He would stand ready to plunge three at a time into the bucket and set them alight when the time came.

Quick as they could, Birger and the three Halflings took their positions on the spine of The Green Man and stood ready. Birger felt the pocket in his breeches with his free hand, making sure his sling and his rocks were well at hand should he need them . . .

[Tevildo]

Tevildo had slithered out of Mori's satchel, listening with renewed interest as Andwise explained his ideas for fighting back against the wolves. The cat was not unhappy to be here in the Inn plotting an attack on a wolf pack rather than curled up in Mori's bag hiding from the shadow creature. Not that Tevildo couldn't have taken out that grim faced monster on his own if the wizards had cleared out and given him a bit of elbow room. But the long-robed fellows had proven singularly uncooperative, not appreciating or acknowledging how he might have helped them.

As much as Tevildo disliked Melko's former henchman, he could not help but be pleased by the fact that he would now be up against a band of dishevelled and ugly hounds, predictable brutes who slathered at the mouth and, just like their cousins, the cowardly dogs, attacked their prey in gangs. As far as Tevildo was concerned, there was very little difference between the two types of canines, except that the wolves had the good sense normally to avoid the two-leggeds.

Huan and the rest of his ilk hanging about the Inn would probably deny that any relationship existed. But that was because dogs were untrustworthy, nasty creatures who told enormous lies just to get the approval of their masters. Still, Tevildo would be quite happy to work hard for the downfall of the wolves. If the wolves could be escorted out first, perhaps the dogs would be the next to go!

Owl was so caught up organizing the ground attack of the larger animals that he had paid no attention whatsoever to the birds, some of whom had flown inside the Inn and were now getting in everyone's way. So like birds to make themselves a bother and a nuisance! But the pea-brained creatures did have one advantage even Tevildo could not deny: they had the ability to fly. And it did seem as if this might be an advantage in helping to defeat the pack of wolves. Tevildo had generously offered to Owl to take command of the brigade of smaller birds to teach them what they must do. "You take the kestrels and the merlins," Tevildo purred. "I wouldn't presume to instruct the great birds of prey. Just give me the songbirds and such, and I'll try to put some sense into their heads. What do you say to that?"

[piosenniel]

Wren perched on the crossbeam of the ceiling and cast a beady black eye down on the proceedings below. Many of his feathered confederates were also

A number of the smaller birds had flown up the cross beams of the room, wanting to be out of the way of the larger animals. Wren, too, was perched there, ruffling his feathers in a rather indignant manner as he cast a beady black eye at the proceedings below.

‘Kestrels and the merlins!’ he spluttered to himself, catching the conversation between the cat and Owl. ‘Of course you don’t want to try bossing them about,’ he muttered to himself. ‘You lily-livered bird-killer! They’d peck your sneaky little eyes out and leave you for the wolves to make mincemeat of.’ The little brown bird hopped up and down on the beam indignantly at the very thought of a cat trying to put some sense into his head.

Still, he wanted to help . . . and Owl looked to be too involved in his business with the bigger birds to take any note of the smaller. Wren gave a loud trill, calling all the songbirds up the crossbeams. ‘Quiet!’ he ordered, in a quite officious manner as the last of the little twitterers flew up in a rush of feathers to the high perch. With their heads cocked toward him, the little birds gave him their attention.

The sudden silence surprised him . . . as much for the fact that they had actually listened to him as for the fact that a place unfilled with their chattering seemed so cheerless. ‘Listen up, my friends,’ Wren went on. ‘I think the . . . C-A-T down there might have an idea of how we can help against the wolves that are on the way.’ One of the chickadees fluttered her wings, looking as if she might fly down to where Tevildo sat.

‘Sit tight, missy!’ he called to her. ‘No reason to get within tooth and claw reach of him. We all should stay here out of his reach while he tells us his plan.’

Wren leaned over the side of the beam and whistled at Tevildo to attract his attention. ‘Hey you! White cat! We hear you have a plan in mind.’ A score or so of little glittering eyes looked down at the cat from above. ‘And speak up, please! We’re not coming any closer . . .’

[Rose]

White Paw glanced toward the cat and then up to the little brown bird. Saucy thing! But wise in his own way to realize the threat of a common danger might not overcome ages of natural instinct.

The hound had finished convincing his father he meant it when he said the old fellow would not be going out to stand against the wolves. He’d even bared his teeth and growled at his father to emphasize his point. ‘You’ll only distract me from the fight if you insist on going out. I cannot fight effectively if I have to worry about what is happening to you. More lives will be lost if my attention is divided.’ His father’s eyes had blazed briefly at his son’s commanding demeanor and words. Then he’d dipped his head slightly and turned away from White Paw, seeking a spot to lie down near the fire.

Two of his brothers went with White Paw to the outer perimeter of the grounds on which The Green Man stood. On silent, quick feet they made their way to a little thicket of scrubby oak that grew on a small rise at the western edge. The three burrowed into a tangle of bare brushwood dusted with snow that sheltered at the edge of the trees.

On the eastern side, they saw the dark form of a great bear disappear into the shadows of a rocky outcropping. The two groups of outposted sentries would harry the wolf pack from behind, pushing them toward the arrows of the Halflings and the devices of the bigger birds.

In his mind’s eye, White Paw kept the images of the two tall men. Should the other defenses fail, they had promised to stand against the coming Dark....

[Undómë]

‘Come, greybeard,’ Goody crooned to the old hound who’d lain down near her. He drew nearer her outstretched hand, inching along the smooth wood of the floor on his belly. His lips were curled back slightly from his yellowed teeth, as if to smile at her invitation. And his tail thump-thumped in a glad and grateful way.

The old woman offered him the bowl of thick soup someone had placed near her earlier in the evening. ‘Won’t be needing this,’ she whispered to him, putting the cooled offering down in front of him. ‘This fire and the turning year has clean pulled the hunger from me, Master Hound,’ she went on as the old dog stood up stiffly and began to lap up the mishmash of meat and vegetable. ‘I feel as light and empty as the bleached bone of a sparrow’s wing. Made a meal of by some hungry cat, picked clean and left to dry in the turning seasons. Hollow . . . yes, that’s the word. And where I was once strong and unbending . . . now does time leach away the hardness bit by bit.’

She laughed as the hound paused and cocked his head, turning his muzzle up to her as if to seek the meaning of her words. ‘One strong gust of wind, you know, and what little as holds me together will fly apart. And oh then will I be scattered on the breezes and the airs.’ Goody poked the log with her charred stick and fed a few twigs of rowan and red-berried holly to the flames. ‘But not ‘til I’ve seen this one task through.’

Above her, she could just make out the muffled steps of the Halflings and Birger as they took their positions on the Inn’s roof. The younger hounds and the Bear had gone out of doors only a little while ago. In their dark eyes she thought she had seen the same timeless glimmerings of those hounds that had once run at the feet of The Huntsman’s horse. The quarry would be run to ground; brought down with a sure and savage vengeance; rent by tooth and claw. The fur would fly and in the ensuing melee only the howls and strangled yips of the vanquished wolves would be left. Scattered on the winds, too, she thought.

‘Now isn’t that just something,’ the old woman mused. She shifted her bony hips on the chair, easing herself into a more comfortable position. ‘Well, well, well . . .,’ she mused, chewing over the little epiphany like some piece of gristle with a few shreds of sweet meat still clinging to it. ‘Good and bad . . . and it all comes down to this . . . the ashes of old dried bones flung all willy-nilly to the farthest corners by the breath of winds . . . and who would know them then for ill or fair, I wonder?’

The old hound sat down on his haunches and snorted as she asked her question. He sneezed, an added emphasis, sending the dust and a small bit of ash from the fire wheeling up into the room.

Goody narrowed her eyes, looking askance at her companion’s comment and shook her head. ‘Nay, not even you, Master Hound, with your keen nose could say.’ He rose to his feet again and growled low as if to disagree with her.

‘Still, we know at this very moment the difference, don’t we? The choices are already made. The lines clearly drawn. The scent and shape of the foe sharp to eye and nose.’

From the corner of her eye, she could see the other in the room preparing for their part in this engagement. Soon the foe would be met. Goody shivered at the thought, a mixture of ancient dread and growing anticipation.

‘Well, then, what can we do, we old ones . . . too slow in thought and limb . . . more hindrance than help.’ She gathered the hound near to her; he leaned against her leg. ‘We’ll keep the Green Man’s fire burning, shall we? Keep watch against the rising dark.’

In the midst of the hubbub, at the heart of the inn, the two grey-haired companions sat wrapped in a deep silence. Their eyes glinted in the dance of the Yule log’s flames, flickering, flickering . . .

[Arry]

From their vantage point on the roof, and in the shadow of the chimney, the three Halflings could see the shadows of the great wolves as they moved across the flat little space of plain that stood between the foothills and the village. The moon was bright and threw the shadows across the expanse of snow like long sharp claws of darkness. At the rate the wolves were traveling they would be to the gates in a very short span of time.

Andwise whistled low, a short shrill little sound that trailed off at the end . . . the call of a nighthawk hunting. It was answered by the soft calls of several night flying raptors . . . ‘They stand ready,’ he whispered to his brothers and to Birger. ‘It is as the great owl told the tall men. They will come down on silent wings and drop their pouches of oil on the wolves. The hounds, then and I think the great bear will drive the pack toward us, distracting them as they harry the beasts with tooth and claw.’

He signaled to Birger to stand just behind the three of them with the bucket of live coals and the bundle of arrows with their wrapped tips soaked in oil. ‘When they are in bow range, we will begin to fire among them.’

Willem bore a worried look on his face. ‘What if the wolves get too close, all burning and such? Won’t the Inn be in danger of catching fire, too?’

[Huan]

‘That’s what I thought, too, Master Willem. But Cook and Carr have filled a great number of buckets and pots and stand ready to douse the flames. From the windows on the second floor. And those in the inn will rush out with pitchfork and club and claw, tooth, and sharp beak to drive the beasts back from the inn walls.’ He paused for a moment, beetling his brow. At least that’s what I understood the owl and the cat and Masters Mori and Stamo to be discussing.’

Birger shrugged his thin little shoulders and looked wide-eyed at the Halflings. ‘’Tis very hard to get the sense of a conversation, when half of it is in hoots and growls and meows and such.’

[littlemanpoet]

Greenbeard had lain down on his high bed. Wenda and Mara had stayed on the ground, tucking themselves underneath two fir trees, making a soft bed of the many years' fall of needles.

Wenda could feel it coming. It was not far away.

Pada and Muna stood close to each other as two peas in a pod. Their noses twitched and their wide eyes betrayed fear and the awareness that something that threatened their lives was near.

Fir Hill was not enough to hold back the shadow. It had felt so near most of the day and night, but now seemed remote. It was not; rather, it had diffused itself over great spaces so as to be harder to detect. Suddenly it closed on Fir Hill.

Wenda's lips betrayed a bare hiccup, but Mara saw the whites of her eyes. Her face darkened.

"Wenda! Wenda!" Mara cried fearfully.

The shadow found the two-souled woman. The other woman would be next, then the Ent. It wanted this second soul, sweet to the taste, all mute fear and despair. It consumed.

Wenda seemed to be choking in her sleep, her body shaking and fighting against itself in seeming, her arms flailing.

"Araròma calls you, foul beast!" cried a sharp voice from very close by. Of a sudden Wenda's contorting body fell back and she seemed as one dead.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Owl had been exceedingly busy for the past few hours, not only preparing for the attack that must be made, but soothing disgruntled egos and straightening ruffled feathers. He had hurried over when Wren had questioned Tevildo's motives and, with the help of Mori and Stamo, brought some semblance of peace between the smaller birds and the cat. The songbirds were poised on the topmost eaves of the Inn, each pair balancing a small kettle filled with oil that was intended to be dumped onto the wolves.

Tevildo's old hunting buddies had unexpectedly reappeared at the Inn, either because they had a second sense for sniffing out a good fight or simply didn't want to remain outside with a pack of ravenous wolves loose in the neighborhood. Tevildo had deserted his post with the songbirds and had resumed his spot at the head of his feline gang. The cats were positioned in the middle branches of the tree, ready to spring down and lend their sharpened claws once the larger beasts had brought the pack to bay.

The howling of the wolves was becoming louder and more insistent as they sped across the plain and approached the outer gate of the courtyard. Owl had hurriedly slipped through one of the still open windows and flew above the Inn in large sweeping circles, keeping a close eye on what was happening below. At that instant, he saw the lead beast approach the old stone wall that ran along the perimeter of the Green Man's courtyard. The creature leapt the stone fence with two great bounds and began streaking through the outer garden.

With a great hoot and cry, Owl bellowed out a warning, "Everybody ready. In your place. We must fight for our burrows and our nests, for our little ones, both two legged and four legged. Everyone together now. The battle is upon us." With that, Owl dived towards one of the advancing beasts, pressing forward with his claws to strike and tear at the pair of gleeming yellow eyes.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Once he had leapt the stone fence, Nilak was pleased to discover that he was standing directly in front of the Inn. Inside that building must lie a sumptious feast, nearly free for the asking. He had a particular weakness for the young cubs of the two-leggeds. Surely, there would be a few of these little ones hiding under their bedclothes.

Nilak's gold eyes peered steadily into the night taking in the entire yard and even the lower branches of the trees. For one instant, it appeared as if the courtyard was entirely deserted. Perhaps the two-leggeds did not even know that they were about to attack. But then, out of the darkness, he caught a jumbled glimpse of several hazy figures, half hidden in the shadows, concealed behind whatever cover they could manage to find. What Nilak saw pleased him immensely. With the sole exception of one large and rather awkward looking bear, most of the others looked to be small and weak opponents, scarcely worthy of his attention: a bevy of birds, several hobbits with tiny bows, and some disreputable looking cats.

Howling in triumph, the leader of the pack hurled himself forward and called out to the other wolves: "At them, boys. They are weak and puny. We shall feast on fresh meat tonight."

[piosenniel]

Oil and ashes . . .


As the first of the beasts cleared the wall, the smaller birds flew out from the second story windows with their small pouches of oil and dropped them on the wolves. Not all of them hit the target, but splashed on the ground beneath the pack’s feet. And that was alright – the tall men had told them so. The little puddles of oil on the ground could just as easily catch fire from the Halflings’ arrows and make small barriers that would distract the wolves.

Distract the wolves, they would indeed. For now the smallest of birds flew out from those same windows. There were four of them to a linen dish towel, each to a corner. The center of the towel held a light load of ash and cinder from the fireplace.

There were four towel formations which launched their attack against the foe.Soon a number of the wolves were yowling as their eyes were assaulted by the dust and scratched by the cinders.

Wren flew down in a mad dive bomb of the nearest wolf's tail once his load of ashes were dropped. And a number of the other small birds assisted him, much like a swarm of bees rushes in to sting an offending intruder.

There were, of course, casualties, as the great beasts snapped at the small defenders. But many of the little birds were able to find places on the wolves, especially about the tender ears where they could peck and rip at the flesh. And some, though not all of these brave birds survived, were able to grab hold of a bushy eyebrow and peck out a nasty yellow eye or two . . .

[Arry]

It was hard to wait. The wolves had begun to come over the wall, and Willem could barely control the urge to shoot at them. He stood stock still as did his brother, though, and arrow nocked in his bow; the string pulled back to h his ear.

‘Wait, wait,’ whispered Andwise. ‘They will fly out soon.’

And no sooner had the words left his lips than a cloud of birds flew from the windows just below them, the little pouches of oil clenched firmly in their little feet.

Birger stepped near with an oil soaked brand and plunged it into the live coals. It caught flame and he quickly transferred the flames to the arrows of the Halflings.

‘Make them count – Madoc, Willem.’ Andwise spoke low, keeping his eye on the wolves below. He let loose his arrow, striking the left flank of a wolf just jumping down from the stone wall.

The beast yelped in anger and in pain. And in his attempt to roll and put out the fire, the wolf managed to ignite several puddles of oil on the ground.

Willem and Andwise sent their own arrows flying, too; one hitting a wolf, one glancing off the haunches of another to go skittering onto the oil-soaked ground.

One more round of flaming arrows flew toward the foe from the Halflings’ bows. There were smoky, flaming patches on the ground below, and a number of the wolves were panicked from their own singeing.

Then, with a gesture to Birger that they were done, the three archers moved a little closer to the edge of the eaves and began to fire at the wolves with the remainder of their sharp-edged arrows.

[Rose]

As the wolves began to leap the stone wall into the Green Man’s back courtyard, White Paw and his two brothers closed in behind them from the right. The brown bear, on silent paws for one so large, swung in from the left. The four defenders loped along silently behind the nine wolves.

The last two wolves in line were keeping watch as their fellows leapt in ones and twos to the top of the wall and over. They were just turning, themselves, to follow after the pack when they were hit hard from behind.

With a might swipe of his big, sharp-clawed paw, the bear hurled the wolf nearest him against the wall. The wolf was not killed, but he was stunned and he struggled to find his footing as he shook his head, trying to clear it from the impact. With a roar the bear’s massive, muscular body was upon him. With a loud crunch he snapped the wolf’s neck in his powerful jaws. And for good measure he shook the now limp body with a fury and flung it over the wall.

The other wolf had launched himself against the bear hoping to drive it from his packmate. White Paw hurtled himself toward the attacking wolf’s hind legs, knocking him down for a moment. The hound’s snapping jaws hamstringed the wolf on one side and the beast turned, biting savagely at White Paw.

White Paw’s two brother’s barreled into the side of the wolf and brought him fully down. As the wolf turned to lunge and lifted his head to bite at them, White Paw scrambled forward to seize the wolf by the neck. It was a bloody struggle, the three hounds against the big wolf. But at the last, the lupine body lay still and bleeding onto the blood-muddied snow.

‘Well done!’ the bear growled turning toward the gate in the wall. ‘Now come, wolf-banes! There are more inside to be killed. With a roar he rushed to the gate and opened it with a swipe of his paw. Behind him the hounds ran, bloodied, howling loud at the promise of another kill.

[Huan]

Once the Halflings switched to their plain tipped arrows, Birger moved a little apart from them on the roof top. He fished about in his pocket and found his little sling. He grasped it in his right hand and dipped into the pouch of stones that he’d hung at his belt. His fingers felt a nice largish stone, one with some sharp corners here and there.

Birger spied out a certain wolf who was leaping and snapping at the birds and at the cats, too, who were darting in here and there to harry him. He took careful aim and let fly the missile toward the beast. It could not, of course, kill the wolf, but it hit him hard and sharp on his snout, causing him to cry out in pain.

One of the cats seized the opportunity and went flying toward the beast's head, his sharp front claws sinking into at least one of the wolf’s eyes as his back claws raked mercilessly at the already painful snout.

[Undómë]

‘The battle, it would seem, is now full on . . .’

Old Goody reached down to the hound beside her and gave him a reassuring scratch between the ears. He whined a little, though not from fear. She could feel the current of excitement running just beneath his skin.

‘You’d like to be out there, wouldn’t you?’ she whispered down to him. ‘It’s where you belong isn’t it, old fellow. You were born to run the prey to ground and rend him limb from limb.’ The old hound thumped his tail hard and shivered with the anticipation of the hunt; the smell of blood, the taste of it strong in his memory.

She straightened up in her chair and let her gaze rest on the two tall men. The stood in the middle of the room, a quietness about them. Their forms reflected a certain ease despite the tumult in the courtyard of the inn and in their faces a surety of hope reposed.

‘The others have taken their place in the battle,’ she spoke aloud, watching them closely as their eyes slid to consider her. ‘Why are you not among them?’

[Envinyatar]

Stamo’s long fingers curled about his staff as he leaned on it lightly. His head was cocked slightly as if to take in the whole of the sounds that played about the little building. He did not smile, only listened and nodded his head when certain of the night’s music rose above the seeming din . . . a certain harmony revealed.

It was Mori who answered the old woman’s question. And then with a half smile and nod of his own head, as if remembering some old admonition.

‘We attend to it as we may, Guðælfr Holtsdottir.’

His grey eyes considered the burning log. It was near spent, as were these last waning nights of the old year. The new was upon them, the tide turning toward the light. His voice took on a sing-songy note as he threw out the words they had first heard from her when they had entered the inn.

The Green Man gives us one of his great limbs to push back the darkness and holly from his hair with which to keep it lit. That and the good barley for the wassail, the wheat for the bread, and the fruits of the vine and flower for mead and wine. A good ‘un, he is.’ ‘Though he suffers no fools. ‘Pon you, it is, to keep from the darkness.’

Mori narrowed his eyes, nodding at her words.

‘Twas some wisdom you spoke. And glad are we that Men remember and keep to the task. For our part we can only lend what little wisdom we have, and hope that it will be enough. No power is given to us to lead your battles against the foe. And what might we may have had must be foregone when we are clothed in flesh and pressed with the fears of the world’s creatures. It is enough for us to have lent hand and eye and ear as we might to point you on your way.’

‘It goes well . . .’ Stamo’s words fell into the pause between his companion and the old woman. ‘. . . this little battle. Darkness and shadows recede; the fair light of morning comes again . . .’

[littlemanpoet]

The shadow pulled away from the two-souled one, only half satisfied. This new one had power. Was power. But the shadow was strengthened by the animal soul. Not enough! This one's sword did strange things that only the shadow could see: he held it between them, slowly approaching. Who was this one? No man!

You are not of this Middle Earth.

I am of Oromé, foul one.

The shadow said nothing, made no thought. To do so would be to lose strength. The shadow made to flee.

Arato brought the sword down into the midst of the darkness. The shadow screamed in his mind. Then, as if a fire's black sooty smoke was made to return to the wood and flame, so the shadow hied itself to the black blade. In moments, the air was clear though cold. The sword was not the shadow's prison, but the door to that prison from which there was no escape.

Join your master, foul one.

He sheathed his blade and approached Mara, who knelt over the prone form of Wenda.

"Is she well? Or ill?"

"I know not!"

Then Wenda's eyes came open suddenly and she coughed. She recognized Mara, who helped her to sit up.

"Are you well, Wenda?"

She nodded. "But Pada and Muna! What of them? Where are they? Why can't I sense them?" Suddenly her eyes went wide and her mouth formed an 'O'. Then tears flooded her eyes; she did not wipe them away.

"What is the matter, Wenda?" Mara asked.

"It stole my reindeer shape!"

Wenda would never walk the earth on four hooves again. Mara held her close as she wept. Arato kept his distance, for Wenda did not know him well. He looked up and saw the Ent.

"Hoom! You have done a mighty thing, human with the dark sword. Hoom hom! The shadow will not return?"

"Nay, not ever."

"Hm! That is well. That is very well!"

[Huan]

The blazing arrows of the three Halflings had flown true. A number of wolves were ablaze and running about in panic. Others of the animals and birds were able to dash in and out among them striking blows. A couple of the wolves had already run off their tails tucked between their legs.

Birger had been able, too, to use his sling against the great beasts. He could not kill them, but he could irritate them no end with hard flung rocks to the heads and hindquarters. One wolf he had been especially lucky with – his flinty little missile had put out the beasts eye.

He could hear shouts coming up from the second story windows. Carr and Cook and several of the guests were calling for more water to put out the flames. There were many little puddles of oil on the grounds in the courtyard from the birds who had dropped their pouches of oil on the charging wolves. And some of the flames had crept near to the inn walls.

Birger could see that the Halflings and the others seemed to have the battle well in hand. He stuffed his sling in his pocket and crept back down to the attic and then down the short stairwell to the rooms where the others strove to put out the flames.

‘What can I do?’ he shouted to Carr as the man dumped a bucket of water down the outer wall of the building.

‘Fill the buckets, Birger,’ the older man shouted. The wolves are nearly routed, but now we need keep back the flames.

The boy picked up a number of buckets and ran down to the kitchen to fill them from the barrels there as fast as he could.

[Envinyatar]

The battle ends . . .

Of the nine great beasts who had sought entrance to the inn, only five now remained. And of those five, two had run off, fur aflame, the reeking stench of their own burnt flesh thick and gagging in their noses.

The Green Man’s defenders still stood firm against the shadow’s onslaught. Yes, a number of birds had fallen, snapped out of the air be the ravening jaws of the wolves. And a cat had met his fate, too, but not before he had clawed out the eyes of his foe and raked the wolf’s snout most grievously. One of the hounds had gone down, having drawn the attention of one of the larger wolves to him, allowing White Paw and his brother to attack from the side and behind. And here and there lay the still body of some small animal who had reached up with tooth and nail to slow the beasts in their pursuit of others.

The determination and will of the defenders moved victorious for this time and place against the foul shadow creatures. With a bark of command, Nilak, the pack’s leader, ordered his remaining wolves to retreat.

The bear, for all his bulk, moved after them, a swift dark death whose long claws brought down one last of the enemy. And as he crushed the spine of the wolf, he could see the dogs harrying the last two of the beasts to the far outskirts of the village and beyond.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On their way . . .

‘The light waxes strong; the shadow is pushed back again.’

Stamo stood up straight, his grey eyes cleared of the distant fog that had filled them. ‘Both . . .’ he continued in anticipation of Mori’s question. ‘Melkor’s servant and the wolves . . .’

The smell of smoke poured in through the windows as the two unshuttered them to look out into the night. ‘And even the last of the fires dies under the able hands of Carr and the others.’

He turned his gaze toward the Yule fire. It still burned brightly under the ministrations of Old Goody. The skin of her face shone in the light from the flames . . . or rather it glowed as brightly as did the Yule log’s spirit. But more from within, he thought. They will soon both be ashes.

‘We are leaving now, Guðælfr Holtsdottir,’ he said softly, his voice rising barely above the hiss and pop of the fire. He handed Mori his walking staff, and fastened his own cloak on.

‘Keep the log burning, old one. Your task is almost done.’ The two moved to the door, their staffs knocking against the floor as they walked along.

‘We will not see you again in the circles of this world,’ Mori said opening the door to let his companion pass through. ‘And in the other we cannot say.’

The door swung shut behind the two. The light of the fire burned in the little room, pushing back the even the shadows in the farthest corners . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

The two remaining wolves raced out of the village and slunk into the woods, this time heading south and east. Exhausted and bleeding, they threw their bodies down on a nearby stream bank, assuaging their thirst by taking large gulps of water and then stopping to lick the gashes and bruises they had suffered during the engagement.

"Nilak," growled the other wolf. "This did not go quite as we planned."

"No, someone must have warned them. For they were as well prepared as any of the two-leggeds that I have ever since. But what I really do not understand is how they got those birds and animals to fight beside them. Pah! They cheated. Man and beast do not fight side-by-side. There is some foul magic at work here. It is almost as if they could speak the languages of these different creatures. How else could they have gotten them to do exactly as they wanted? It's unfair, I tell you."

"So what do we do now?"

"What we've done in times before. Go steal some hen eggs to get us by and wait for tomorrow. We have definitely been misled. I tell you, Grulak, it is not the North that will save us but the East. Our time is coming. I can smell it in the air. Let us find an isolated farmyard to the east and slink inside for a little snack, anyplace that doesn't have hobbits and wrens acting in tandem. And meanwhile, we'll begin recruiting again for a new contingent of companions, ones that are worthy of our strength and ability."

With that, the two wolves slipped off together into the darkness. Yet on the horizon, the first streaks of daylight were just visible to the eye.

[Arry]

The three Hobbits climbed down carefully from the snowy roof and made their way down the ladder they’d left against the eaves. Most of the little fires had been put out by the men with their buckets of water and it was slippery going as the water had begun to freeze into slick ice.

In the courtyard at the rear of the inn, the animals who had helped in the fight were beginning to gather. Lying about the enclosure were the still bodies of those creatures who had fallen in the battle. Andwise looked about for the tall men, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Through a series of gestures and reassuring talk, the Hobbits spoke to the remaining animals. The Hobbits helped gather some wood for a little pyre in one corner of the Inn yard. With the help of the animals their fellows’ bodies were placed atop the pyre and a few parting words given by the three Hobbits. They then gave a little bow to Owl and the others and made their way back into the inn.

Old Goody still sat by the fire. And Carr was bringing in pots of hot, mulled wine for those in the common room to dip into with their mugs. Willem went back into the kitchen to help see if Cook could be persuaded to bring out a little something to eat. Soon, he returned with several little baskets of bread and a platter of sliced cheese and pot of tangy mustard.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Owl had lined up all the animals in a large semi-circle behind the Inn and was counting beaks and noses to make sure that all his charges were safe. The dogs seemed to be missing, but most likely they had gone inside the Green Man Inn and were now toasting their toes in front of the fire. A few of the older animals had ventured into the stables and dug out all the little ones who had been hiding in large hay piles. Most of the families were now reunited.

With the help of one of the hobbits, Owl had begun a small bondfire to burn the bodies of the few small creatures who had valiantly fallen during the fight. It is not the way of beasts to say lengthy goodbyes, but the others had lined up for a moment or two to think about those who had died. There would be longer goodbyes said within each family that had suffered a loss, once they returned to their individual burrows and nests.

Only a few of the creatures in the circle were nursing injuries. Most of these were minor and required no special care. There was one, however, that seemed much more seriously wounded than the others. He lay exhausted on the ground, and was letting out a series of terrible yowls that reverberated through the courtyard and Inn.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo lay stretched out near the courtyard wall, his white fur once so pristine and fluffy now matted and covered with dirt. The cat's mouth was open as he panted furiously while still emitting a series of high pitched howls. Tevildo's left shoulder showed a good sized gash that dripped blood. One of his rear legs was twisted askew underneath his body so that he could not stand up.

"You imbeciles," the cat thundered, flicking his tail menacingly from side to side. "Can't you see I am hurt? Very nice to pay homage to the deceased, all the while leaving me here in the mud, especially when I was the one who singlehandedly brought down the largest wolf! This shows what I get for trusting the likes of you."

Tevildo sagged to the ground, closed his eyes, and stopped breathing, trying very hard to look limp and dead.

[Huan]

‘Well, I saw him myself. From the rooftop,’ said Birger in a hushed voice as Cook dosed Tevildo with a bit of honeyed wine to knock him out and then applied a dwale to him, as she called it. It was a sponge as had been soaked in some herbal concoctions and allowed to dry. Then, when it was needed there was but to soak it in a little water and hold it near the nose, wiping the wet mixture of various herbs onto the inner lining of the nostrils.

‘Saw what?’ said Cook, using only a few small swipes of the sponge. The cat was so tiny in comparison to the men she’d stitched back together and reset their bones. Soon though, the cat’s breathing slowed and it appeared to fall into a deep sleep.

‘He jumped right on the head of one of the biggest wolves. And raked his muzzle and clawed the beast’s eyes out. Brought the wolf down, too I think. All hissing and spitting and claws flying. And yowling and sinking his teeth into the monster’s neck.’ Birger leaned in closer to watch Cook clean the gashes and stitch them up.

Carr dipped his big finger into a pot of ointment and rubbed it gently down now closed wounds. He motioned for Birger to take hold under the cat’s front legs, and around the ribcage. He held the skewed back leg securely, while Cook, with a quick tug pulled the bone into place. ‘Don’t think the bone’s broken, just the joints are pulled out of place. Still, we’ll need to be splinting it to keep things where they ought to be.’

A low sided, wide box was filled with some sweet smelling straw and a number of soft, folded blanket scraps laid atop it, making a cozy little nest for the still sleeping patient. He was laid in it, on his side, a bowl of fresh water nearby. The box was set near the inn stove, where it would be warm and out of the way of any cold drafts.

Birger knelt down by the cat and gave him a quick scratch behind the ears. ‘That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever see anyone do. Amazing . . . you were just amazing!’

‘He’ll be alright boy,’ said Cook, motioning for Birger to come away from the drowsing feline. Let him rest, he’ll need it. Most likely be mighty sore tomorrow. Strong cat, though. I’ll just bet he’ll be up tomorrow . . . limping for sure, but on his feet for sure.’

It was cozy in the kitchen, the light subdued. And the warmth from the cook stove found its way into even the coldest corners.

[Undómë]

Still dark it was. But a cleaner darkness than what had passed, she thought. A natural darkness that gives way easily to light and passes away without a struggle into the dawning day.

Old Goody had roused herself from her chair by the fire and pulling a heavy cloak about her had gone out to stand under the black dome of sky. There were no stars; the clouds were too heavy. And even the bright moon’s light struggled wanly round their edges. The tall men were gone. East, they had told her in parting . . . to the workings of their own tasks.

A light snow had fallen; their footsteps were obscured . . . nay, vanished altogether. And for all she knew they had but stepped outside The Green Man and casting off their forms, taken wing. She laughed, chiding herself as she did so that she need keep rein on her imaginings, lest those in the village think she had gone quite daft.

Soon, ‘twill not matter what anyone thinks. You’ll not be here to be bothered by it. Goody laughed again, a louder, wilder sound.

In the distance, on the steep slops of the peaks above the foothills, a hollow booming sound echoed down softly from the backdrop of the mountains. Some great mass of snow loosed itself from its tenuous pinnings and came rolling and tumbling down the slope until it hit hard against the trees which marked the high edges of the forest. Great spumes of snow shot up into the air as the trees gave way at first and then held fast.

The sun rose up to the edges of the world; to that place where the tall men said they were going. Here in the winterlocked north even its bright light struggled against the layers of clouds and snow . . .

[piosenniel]

It was curiously quiet as wren peeked down from his perch beneath the eaves. The new day’s light was just creeping across the foothills of the mountains, running along the long plane from which they rose. Wren looked down at the courtyard; no creature stirred. And all the bloody leavings of yesterday’s battle had been covered over by a light falling of snow.

Smoke still drifted upward from the chimney. He could see that now as he flew out to the bare, gnarled branches of the apple tree that stood just outside the stone wall of the courtyard. A few glowing embers drifted up with the smoke, burning brightly in the early morning.

Wren shook himself, fluffing out his feathers to keep what little warmth there was trapped against his little form. He hopped about on his branch, hoping soon to see the back door of the Green Man come open and the sturdy arm of the man who worked there begin to scatter handfuls of bread crumbs and other leavings.

As he fluttered about, Wren’s eye caught sight of a small flock of dark birds as they rose up from a stand of trees . . . there in the distance . . . in the forest that blanketed the foothills. They wheeled about in the morning’s air and then scattered. Wren shivered, not from the cold, but from the thought that they had come from that part of the forest where the shadow creature had been . . .

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post

By the time Tevildo awoke from his sleep, most of the Inn's servants were bustling about the Inn and its grounds, clearing up the considerable mess that had been left over from the night before. Breakfast was being served in the common room. Several guests had arisen early, finished off a platter of biscuits and eggs, and were now joining in the general effort to repair fences and gates as well as to chop up fallen branches that could be used for the firepit.

Tevildo watched all this activity with great interest but without the slightest desire to participate or help anyone. Once he thought no one was looking, he tried out his legs and, to his great delight, discovered that he could now walk from one end of the room to the other, if only with a pronounced limp. He had to admit that under the circumstances he had not done badly. He was nestled in a snug box with piles of blankets in which to luxuriate. He could feel the warmth radiating from the stove as well as the pale winter sunlight that stole in from a window just above.

Before he'd drifted off to sleep, he had heard two of the fellows discussing his deeds in such laudatory terms that even Tevildo could think of no reason to complain. These same fellows dropped by every now and then, scratching him behind the ear, and leaving choice tidbits that he could eat.

Tevildo had always viewed domestic house cats with disdain, thinking them almost the lowest form of life in Arda. After all, what was life without an adventure and a bit of fighting? Still, he was now beginning to have serious second thoughts. It was so pleasant to have folk cater to him. He rubbed against their legs and purred and saw admiration reflected in their eyes. These poor two-legged did seem to have a definite weakness for fluffy white cats, and Tevildo was not adverse to getting out of them everything that could be got.

By the time the servers had finished cleaning up from breakfast, Tevildo had made his decision. It would not be admiss to spend a spot of time at the Green Man; he could bask in the warmth of the common room and charm the guests out of good chunks of their dinners. On the side, he could also make life miserable for wren and the other twittering chits. He might be too fat and well fed to hunt them down, but he could certainly give them a little scare.

Outside, it was cold and snowy. Perhaps by spring, he would decide to take off when the flowers came out and the sun shone bright. For now, however, he would bide his time. He was, after all, a cat and enjoyed lives aplenty. Unlike these poor mortals, time was one thing he possessed in great abundance.

_________________________

Child of the 7th Age's post for Owl:

"My friends, listen carefully," Owl nestled down on the bare, snowy limb of the old oak tree to speak with the birds and beasts who now crowded together in the courtyard. "Mid-winter is long past, and we have overstayed. No one can quarrel with what we have done here. You have much to be proud of. Still it is time for us to leave the world of Men and return to our homes. For some of you, that will be very close." Here Owl glanced over at Wren who was perched on a fencepost. "But for others, like Bear, the path will be long and hard indeed."

"Wherever you go, to whatever realms your journey takes you, do not forget what happened here today. Tell the tale to the trees of the forest and sing soft lullabyes to your little ones so that the brave deeds here, both by men and beasts, shall never be forgotten. Next January, when the clock strikes midnight on Midwinter's eve, we shall meet again in the courtyard of the Green Man. For so it has been for countless years, and so it shall be for numberless ages stretching out towards the end."

"Say your goodbyes and be off as quickly as you can. I bid you adieu till next year." With those final words, Owl flapped his wings and flew upward, heading straight and true towards the great pine forests of the north. And each of the birds and beasts slipped off, some in groups and others on their own, to return to their homes. And, flying through the ash grey sky, Owl was content to know that all was well: another yearly cycle had begun.

[littlemanpoet]

Toward mid-morning, a strange party of wanderers wended their way toward the Green Man Free House. It would be more appropriate to say that three of them walked, two trotted, and one strode in great big, earth-clutching strides.

Wenda did not speak. Mara was attentive to Wenda's wellbeing. Arato kept his own counsel. Pada and Muna trotted ahead for the most part, but every once in a while they doubled back to nuzzle their noses against the unresponsive palm of her hand. Then they would walk slowly by her side, until a scent or sound caught their awareness, and off they went again.

High above them strode Greenbeard, hooming and humming to himself, mulling and supposing and wondering about the Green Man Free House Mara had told him of. He was the first to see it, and the last to speak of it.

"There's chimney smoke wafting ahead," Arato announced.

"Humm!" mumbled Greenbeard.

"Ah! The Green Man at last!" said Mara. "I'll be glad to get indoors and get you under some nice warm blankets, Wenda. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Wenda nodded stiffly but said nothing.

"Hoom! Hom! You call it the Green Man Free House; an odd name. What do you mean by it, if that does not take too long to tell?"

"I think you should ask old Goody about that," Mara replied.

They came out of the thickness of the trees. There stood the outbuildings and fencing of the Green Man, hiding the cozy inn from view; that is, the view of the humans. The Ent could see the entire roof and much of the grounds over fence and roof.

"Hmmm and haroom! There has been much agoing on here judging by the trodden snow in so many places."

"I judge me that they've a story of their own to tell," Arato said. "I'll go in and tell them we're here."

The others waited outside, the Ent humming tunefully and introspectively all the while.

[Undómë]

‘Well, I never.....’

Goody shook her head slowly, trying to clear her vision. She rubbed at her eyes, too, but no amount of fussing would change what she saw as she stood on the step just outside the public house. There, heading toward The Green Man was the crown of a tree.

‘.....thought to see something like that again!’

Not the small, neatly leafed crown of the lady tree she’d seen in her childhood, stirring the plants to life in her Gran’s garden. Nay, this was one of the tall walkers; the sort she’d only heard tales of and never seen.....no, not for all her own walking in the woods at the foot of the hills.

Still, he hummed as the lady had done that long time ago, though in a deeper voice. Goody smiled as the memory and the reality merged, and she found that she did not fear his approach.

‘Welcome, welcome to The Green Man!’ she called out. There were others with him, and though she recognized them, they were but dim images on the periphery of her vision. So focused was she on the lordly tree.

She hobbled out slowly to where he stood, leaning on the knob of her twisted, yew walking stick as she went along. She found, as she walked, her step grew light. And her aching, bent back began to loosen of itself so that her last few steps she stood tall as her small frame allowed and carried her stick in one hand.

‘So very pleased to see one of your kind again,’ she said as she drew near him. Her words seemed to float before her, thin out.....like so much smoke in the wind.

He did not answer, but looked beyond her, a considering look on his face. She turned, wondering what it was that caught his attention so. There on the ground, a number of steps behind her, lay some crumpled form, still as death upon the snowy ground her stick beside her. Four figures gathered about the old husk, two women and two deer. And now from the Inn came others.....

Goody stepped back a pace, to take in more fully the great figure of the tall walker, the tree lord. His deep eyes had turned from the small commotion before him back to the forest from which he’d come.

‘Well, I guess I’ll see you there some time, then won’t I?’ she said, stepping around him as she headed toward the trees herself. ‘I’ve a mind to see where he walks these days,’ she went on. ‘The Green Man.’

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower drives my green age..... she hummed to herself as her footsteps carried her across the snow to the forest canopy. And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind how time has ticked a heaven round the stars.....

She slipped quietly beneath the dark boughs and in less than a wink, she was gone..... (http://www.csupomona.edu/~jcclark/emusic/midi/patapan.mid)

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda looked at the lifeless form of old Goody, and moaned. "No! I needed to-" she lost the use of words and dropped to her needs by the body, caressing the old leathery face, weeping for many losses. Presently, Mara gently lifted her to her feet and drew her into the warmth of the Green Man Freehouse. Others of the House bore up Goody's body and laid it somewhere appropriate - Wenda didn't know for she was overcome.

Mara cooed over her as gentle as a mourning dove, but presently went seeking others, speaking her worry of Wenda to them, for she feared that the young woman might not be whole enough of soul and spirit to fare as she had before.

For her part, Wenda sat before the fire, staring, huddling into her cloak, her face blank, as if she had nothing to wait for her, nothing to plan for. Maybe she needs time, others said nearby.

A bowl of porridge was placed in her hands and she ate absently, as if it had no taste. When the bowl was empty, she held it loose in her hands, staring into the fire, until someone took it from her. They saw how her face was blank, and shook their heads. Would she remain so all the morning, and into the afternoon? They waited and watched, and left her alone all morning; only Mara came and sat by her and now and then whispered questions to her. She said no word.

[Rose]

One of his brothers stirred in his sleep. A low growl, a yip; then a twitching of limbs as the pursuit began. White Paw nuzzled his brother on the neck, drawing him from his dreams to a lighter sleep. He laid his head back on his crossed paws and flicked his eyes about the room.

He could hear little islands of subdued talk about the room. The Small Folk sat near the fire, eating and drinking, talking low among themselves. They were kin, he could tell, by their scent and by the ways they acted with each other. The one who had sat with the old woman now took her place tending the fire. Sometimes, though, or perhaps it was but a trick of the light, he thought he saw the old one standing near Willem, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. White Paw shook his head and the image dissipated, like so much smoke caught in a fresh breeze. It was often like this, he reminded himself, when someone died, man or animal. From the corner of his eye he would catch them in familiar places until they faded from his sight, either from his own thoughts readjusting themselves to remind him they were well and truly gone. Or perhaps the spirits themselves pulled away from their familiar haunts and went on to some other gathering. It was a puzzle to which he had no sure answer.

Old Carr and the boy, my boy, my pack-mate he corrected himself, moved about the room bringing food and drink to the two-leggeds. Birger had not overlooked him and his brothers and father. There had been a filling mash of warm oats mixed with egg and meat scraps. ‘For our brave defenders!’ the boy had said with some pride as he placed the bowl before them.

White Paw pricked his ears at the sounds he heard from the courtyard. Hooves scuffled and scraped at the frozen ground, followed by the insistent sounds, the low callings of the two deer. There was worry in their voices, a note of abandonment, of loss.

He got up, stretching his stiff limbs, shaking the soreness from his wounds, and trotted to the kitchen and out the door to see what was the matter. No, no danger. they said to him. But we worry. We have not seen our herd member. Her custom has always been to be with us often. Where is she? they insisted. How does she fare?

No, they couldn’t come in, he told them. Be patient, let me see if she will come to you…

The woman sat in a chair, her gaze fixed on the fire. What she saw, he could not tell. Her eyes were dull; there was an air about her as if she had fallen in on herself and was lost. White Paw sat down beside her for a moment. He leaned against her leg, laying his great head lightly on her knee. He whined a little as he did so, to draw her attention if he could.

Your pack is in need of seeing you.

He stood up, nuzzling at her hands; then grabbed her right wrist lightly yet securely in his teeth, pulling softly at her.

You are the lead deer. Four-leg, two-leg, no leg at all. You have a duty. You must see to them.

[littlemanpoet]

Wenda heard a dog whining. She felt its cold wet nose on her hand and wrist. With the sound and touch, a tiny flame sparked against the cold within her. She looked down at the dog. White Paw, he was called. She could not smile, but she liked him. He was a good dog. She wished she could speak to him. That was forever gone now.

White Paw grabbed her wrist lightly in his mouth! He pulled at her, made her get up and follow! She did not fight him, had so little fight left in her. He brought her outside. Pada and Muna were waiting, staring at her. She sent her thought to them. No, that didn't work now. She had lost her deer soul. Tears fell from her eyes, but White Paw did not let go, but drew her to her two deer. Yes. They were her deer. Her herd. Their soft eyes looked at her and reminded her of the warmth of their deer love that she had known before. She could feel it at least in memory. No, not just memory. She knew it to be true, even if there was a wall between her and them that could never be passed through again.

"Oh Pada, Muna, I can't talk to you anymore!" White Paw released her wrist as she hugged their necks. They snuffled her hair, as they were wont to do to show their warmth toward her. She still knew them! They were not leaving her, even though she could not be one of them.

"I guess I am talking to you, just not in reindeer." Pada made a low noise in her throat. "And you can talk to me too! I think I know what you meant!" For the first time since the attack, she felt a smile on her face. She turned to White Paw, who sat on his haunches, his ears perked, watching her, with a big tongue-lolling smile. "Thank you, you wonderful dog! If I had only known!"

* * * * *

Wenda spent a day more at the Green Man Free House, gaining her strength back, preparing Pada and Muna and her sleigh for another trip to the north. There were traps to set, yes, but also herds to say hello to, hills and valleys and great ice-covered lakes to traverse. There was cold, clear sky to greet, wind to listen to singing, and Tuskers to track.

Wenda bid farewell to the hobbits, to Mara and Aresto, to the owner of the House, and the others who were staying there, and last of all to White Paw. She gave him a big hug around the neck and got a face full of wet, warm tongue for her trouble. She laughed.

Pada, Muna, and Wenda slid over the thickening snow, for the sun was hid and the flakes were falling. Just the three of them. Just like old times. Almost.

[piosenniel]

~*~ Finis ~*~

[piosenniel]

--- To Elvenhome ---