* Gandalf solemnly bent down and collected the eleven silver pieces strewn on the ground, strode into the Trade Inn, and ordered eleven servings of mutton stew, bread and butter, and ale. The rangers had gone without lunch that day. Agluchel had spoken of a meager soup of herbs for dinner, as hunting had not gone well. *
* Bethberry standing at the edge of the woods with Birdland, Holly, and Vorondil, looked up at the sound of familiar wingbeats. It was Wryd, and the little metal message container attached to his leg was full. Bethberry fondly stroked Wyrd's head, retrieved the scroll, and read it privately to herself:
Dear Bethberry, The Innkeeper informs me that if meals are to be delivered to folk outside the Inn who wish to keep their location to themselves, help will be required. Might I invite you to accompany me on the mission of delivering dinner to the Rangers this evening? Your help and the pleasure of your company will be tremendously appreciated, and we can look forward to sharing good fellowship with the rangers as well. In friendship, Gandalf *
[ August 11, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]
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