[Bêthberry]

Shortly after the Wight opened the shuttered windows, a brown and grey falcon appeared on the window ledge and then promptly flew in. It was Wyrd, Bethberry's messenger falcon and co-conspirator in writing games.

In its beak was a small scroll, which it dropped on the carved and darkened planked table in front of Varda. The mission accomplished, Wyrd then flew to the top of one of the red fir rafters, hoping that one of Bethberry's friends would kindly offer him a tasyt morsel or two. The falcon looked around for likely suspects. Would Rimbaud forgo his own tastes in food to feed the bird or was Thenamir, perhaps even the Wight, a more likely prospect?

Hunger mounting, Wyrd's sharp eyes began to search the dark corners, wondering if the Inn harboured any mice.

Meanwhile, Varda unrolled the message and read it to all,

Friends all,

There is a goodly supply of wood and our cook, although short-tempered at times as is the wont of cooks, is reknown for his stews and roasts, his pastries and delicacies. Mind you, don't give him the keys to the cellar, though, for we want our wine in our cups and not our cook in his cups.

I am called elsewhere, to attend to one who is preparing to sail West. No reading of the Grey Havens has been as sad for me as is this reading I do now. But I look forward to my return.

Fall upon each other's words and not your swords, so that I might find stories abounding to regale me upon my return.

Bethberry

Well, said Varda, to the assembled guests, it is good to know she thinks of us.