[piosenniel]

Max the Pug was whining at the barrow door. Too much singing and reciting for his taste and not enough quiet for sleeping. Not to mention the horrid beast of a cat that someone had unleashed upon the canine population. Even now his left haunch stung with the furrows left from the monster’s sharp claws. And being barrel-chested and a mite rotund, he could not bend far enough around to get his wrinkled and mashed-looking muzzle near the site of injury. His low whines proceeded to louder yelps until Pio came round and picked him up in her arms. ‘Yes we’re going. I’m sure old Thistle is ready to haul us back to the Shire, too.’

Others were in the process of saying their farewells to The Wight, so Pio took her time gathering up her pack, stuffing the dog securely in it; reclaiming her cake carrier, which served well to stash a nice bottle of port and the rest of the cigars. She was just heading toward the door, when she saw Hilde with a lovely brooch in her hand. The woman, she noted, hesitated at placing her gift on the table and instead made her way to one of the bookcases. Wonder of wonders! She threw the brooch into a spittoon on the top of the case.

Hilde left. And the rather nice spittoon seemed to wink at Pio as the light from one of the candle lanterns caught it. She made her way to the bookcase and fingered a few of the dusty and mouldering tomes. When no one was looking she snatched down the spittoon and stirred through its contents. Lovely baubles. Shiny and inviting. Most of them too gaudy for her taste. But there at the bottom lay a thin silvery chain with a small green stone dangle – a hand giving the ‘thumbs-up’ sign. She picked it out and setting the spittoon back on one of the bookshelves, she secured it about her ankle. Perfect, she thought, turning her foot this way and that to see how it looked.

Pio glanced quickly about, hoping no one had seen her. The way through the main cavern was filled with partygoers, as well as the hostess and birthday boy. ‘Shut your eyes, dear,’ she called to Max as she pressed herself against the back wall of the cavern and squeezed her way through the layers of stone and turf. She had never been all that adept at turning all misty and wraith like. There was too much of the Shire solidness about her.

Still she made the effort and was rewarded as her bejeweled ankle at last popped through the barrow wall and she found herself under a clouded sky. Thistle nickered and whinnied softly to her as she made her way round to where she’d left the pony.

With Max safely stowed on a blanket beneath the seat, and her treasures parked securely in the cart itself, Pio flicked the reins lightly and let the pony have her head. Back to the East-West Road they clip-clopped in a leisurely manner.

Under the starless skies the little cart and its passengers were hardly visible, save for the small orange glow of a lit cigar. And after a while, even it seemed only to be some small will o’ the wisp or firefly in the lengthening distance . . .