[Folwren]

Berrick Andrail had sat opposite the two haflings. He silently held the steaming cup of tea in his hand as he listened intently to the owl and then the man’s replies. He turned his head and leaned slightly towards Madoc.

“This man knows the speech of the animals?” he asked quietly. It wasn’t exactly a question necessary to be answered, considering that the answer was evident, and yet Berrick’s wonder was greatly roused. He thought such an art had been lost. It had, at least, in his country. There was a short pause. “A wightish thing, your fainted brother said. Do I understand correctly. . .this thing. . .if it is a wight. . .can it not be killed? Surely by strength of arms it could be overcome and sent back to where it’s supposed to be.”

He had not heard the account given by Wenda, of the village and the dead. . .the corpses with the frozen look of terror etched in each and every one of their faces. Wide traveling had brought him into and through many adventures, but none with anything like this. Danger and fear he had overcome, but always with something mortal, something of flesh and blood. If this was different, he couldn’t be expected to know.

“Our brother seems to think so,” Madoc replied in answer to Berrick’s question. He nodded once again towards the hobbit who was off by the fire. Berrick looked around.

“I think I will go see what talk they hold now amongst themselves,” he said. “Thank you for the tea.” He offered a smile to the hobbit before turning and walking towards the hearth. He spoke to no one as he stopped at the edge of the circle formed by three women and the hobbit. He was content to listen. . .but at the time, no one was speaking.