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Saraphim had downed her third ale, and had started in on a fourth and a slice of garlic-infested pizza. She listened appreciativly to the Saucepan Man's music, and to Fordim Hedgethistle's speech about the great Downs.
Suddenly, however, Saraph remembered something. It seemed as good a time as any, as she noticed a hobbit playing a fiddle near the stage.
Downig her pizza and drink, Saraph stood up and walked over to the musical hobbit. Bending down, she whispered to him. He smiled and struck up a spirited tune on the fiddle.
Saraph jumped onto the stage and sang the old Barrow-Song with slight differences:
Cold be keyboard and monitor and mouse,
Cold be your skin when you reside in your house,
But nevermore will you rise from stony bed,
Without logging on and checking the Dead.
Everyone had heard that verse before, of course, but there was more Saraph had prepared for this very event:
On the black screen some threads may die,
But still discussing the reasons why,
Until the Dark Mod lifts a hand,
Over thier books held together by a rubber band.
Grabbing a mug of ale from a passing tray, Saraph cried: "To the Barrow-Downs! May our books never fall apart beyond recognition!"
She drank deeply to the health of the Barrow-Wight, the Mods, and all her fellow members.
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