Derufin spied the newcomer sitting alone at the table. The Innkeeper was busy, attempting to unravel someone's complaints about too many Big Folk in a Shire Inn. He watched as she drained the tankard and set it down with a satisfying thunk on the table.
'I wonder who she might be,' he thought to himself, drawing two foaming half pints from the tap.
A welcoming smile on his face, he approached her table and placed one on the table before her. Without invitation, he sat down, raising his mug to her as he did so.
'Welcome to the Inn. I'm Derufin,' he said in introduction, then raised his eyebrows at her, questioningly. 'And who might you be, and from where do you hale?' He sat back comfortably in his chair and took a large pull at his tankard.
After a moment she spoke . . .
[ April 27, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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