[piosenniel]

It was Cook who gave the key to the disheveled Elf. Mindez, it was, or so she puzzled out from the fine script he had used to sign his name in the log book. The gash on his face took her back a bit. She had always thought the Fair Folk to be more skilful in battle. She let him drink his ale in peace then called one of the serving maids to her and had her bring the guest upstairs to his room. ‘And make sure,’ she said in a whisper to the girl, ‘you tell him he can use the wash-up room – we’ll heat up some water for him for a bath.’

She watched him as he sat drinking his ale. ‘Too thin! As usual! No wonder these Fair Folk are fading away.’

And there was another one, standing at the entrance to the Inn. All tall, and gaunt, wrapped in a black cloak, her pale face framed by fair hair. She looked like some starved wild deer, ready to bolt if someone so much as looked her way. ‘Ruby,’ said Cook, pointing the Elf out to her assistant, ‘go over there and tell the Lady Elf to come in if she will. Miz Aman keeps a flask of miruvor for just such creatures. And by the looks of her she could use a drink of it!’

‘And speaking of Elves. Where’s that Vanwe? I haven’t seen much of her today. She’s not slacking, is she?’ Ruby shrugged her shoulders, evading the question before Cook could proceed on to ask if the Elf had eaten. ‘If it were up to Cook,’ thought Ruby to herself, as she walked toward the Lady on the threshold, ‘all the Elves would be as hale and hearty as the Shire folk. With plenty of good meals under their belts!’

‘Ma’am,’ she said to the black cloaked Elf lady who stood at the door, ‘may I help you?’

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]