[littlemanpoet]

It is not far now. There is an entire dwelling where she has gone. My appetite is increasing again. You have become quite akin to cartilage, my dear former village chieftain. Most tasty of all the souls, what with your courage mixed with all that delectable fear. Quite nice.

Not as nice as the veritable banquets of ages agone when My Lord still sat the Throne. Those were the days. Did I tell you I was his chief chef? I did? Well, I never tire of telling my quarries about it. Those were indeed the days. Have you ever tasted an Elven Fëa? Nothing like it. Oh, and the recipes I created. My Lord rewarded me well. Basting, roasting, broiling, filleting of fëar, so many different ways to prepare them for My Lord's table. Spices of all kinds: threats, false promises, stories of rapacious deeds done to kindred. I became fat upon the rich fare. And My Lord was most appreciative of even of the refuse from my dishes. There were orcs from the Elves and trolls from the Ents. Dwarven and Human refuse did not seem to keep well enough. The former hardened to naught but blasted stone while the latter shriveled and fell to ruin, their fëar slipping away to we knew not where. Just as yours is sure to do. And that is what makes me so famished! I need something more lasting. That is why I seek her. She is double-fëa. They are rare.

But lo! She runs away from the dwelling. Then we must turn aside, you and me. Do not look at me that way. I know it seems painful now, but you will fade away to nothing and then be free of pain forevermore. Some of my kind say that you will go beyond the walls of the world, but I do not think so. There is not enough to you.

See you the small sparks of fëar in the trees and slipping along the ground, thinking they are hidden from me? Silly little scraps of nothing. Too small to be more than a mere after dinner sprig of mint. They hide as if I seek such drivel. Silly.

But ah! There is somewhat other at that dwelling! How did I not see it before. And two of them! And now they seem to be moving in the same direction as the double fëa! I do believe that I know them! Strong fëar, these! Indeed, I do believe that they may be just the answer for my famished appetite. You are a mere bone the marrow of which has been sucked dry. I need you no longer. I have new quarry - most delicious! - to hunt down. Oh, the delightful recipes I can try! The spices to be used! What means would work best for their preparation? Basting? What stories do I know? What despair can I set into their minds? We shall see, we shall see!