[Dininziliel]

The tarts & toffee bits scattered upon the ground were briefly revealed by moonlight as clouds passed across the silver face above. The first day of celebration had ended. All were resting peacefully, smiling & dead to the world about them as well might properly be expected. Having made a hasty departure from her barrow in Kansas, another middle place on earth in the 7th age, she had arrived too late to join the merry-making. "I can see there has been no lack of food nor drink here!" A weary yet knowing grin appeared on the face of the traveler as she leaned against the tallest tree and surveyed the tents, banners, & clothes of the party-goers. All their bright & riotous colors were rendered now as ghostly shades of black, grey & silver. What powers she possessed to bless the snoring, snuffling, & blissfully sonorous inhabitants & fellow travelers were focused in gratitude and thanksgiving. Many happy hours were fondly recalled as she gazed on the faces of those who had welcomed her & shared their store of treasured lore as well as wisdom and erudition. "Long may their missives pour forth on the waves of ether, and humor abide in this place, boundless in source & substance!"

The hem of her dress & cloak made the only sound in the clearing, brushing the silver-tipped blades of grass as she left the spectral shade of the tree. Making her way toward the entrance of the beckoning barrow, her exhaustion diminished with every step until she came to the place where she need step no further. Here was the chief and final destination of her journey. Determined to arrive with all speed, having stopped rarely and only briefly across plain, hill, and water, she stood now before her goal. "Perhaps the gift I bring will assuage any ire or peevishness that lingers having been caused by my incessant clamoring to be restored to my original resting place, as well as my overly long and nigh unpronounceable name." To the ancient ones who lurked in the shadowy bogs nearby her words sounded as a prayer or incantation.

Although it was small, the gift was mighty. She removed the plain, soft cloth that had protected it for many leagues, and laid it near the opening to the Wight's private barrow from whence the beloved forum issued. All clouds disappeared, scattered by a sudden wind from the West. The moon sent a beam like an arcing arrow loosed from a Lorien bow. It found its target--the runes fashioned from ithildin. They erupted with a blinding light revealing the name placed upon the object: Acme Portable Gondoran MetaServer. Many spells had been cast upon it so that it neither would nor could crash; it would not waiver in service to the Wight and all the good folk for whom he labored. To her dazed and wondering mind, it seemed as if the gleaming runes had made a sudden, loud noise. Dininziliel became alarmed that the Wight would be roused and discover her swaying like one stricken over the gift that now seemed a small and mean thing to offer. Turning abruptly, she did a quick courtesy in the direction of Mod’s Hill and retreated to the safety of the tree.

Nestling into a knothole at its base, she quieted down to think. “Ah, what a ninnyhammer I am! I forgot to sign the tag! It’s probably just as well since I’m more than likely above my station to think anything I could offer would be grand enough for the Wight. He must have already been given two or three today at least! I’ll just have to face the music in the morning. No doubt there will be plenty of that to dance to. All I can hope for now is not to embarrass myself in the company of all these fine folk!” Her right hand lifted itself listlessly to stifle a yawn. Its effort was in vain. She was asleep, her head resting upon a large and fragrant mushroom, before her hand fell down to join the other one upon her lap.