Bird was delighted that she had guessed the first riddle, though she did not doubt that the wizard had more difficult ones up his sleeve.
But then, the Riddle Game was a passion throughout Middle Earth, and there was not a drover, soldier, alewife or shepherd who did not have a stock of riddles to pull out for such occasions. New ones were avidly memorized, in the hopes that the next player one met had not heard the same riddle somewhere down the road. A person who could write a good, original riddle was as much admired as a poetic bard.
Bird stared down at the breakfast table, then decided to go with a new version of an old theme that she had heard. I wouldn't do to use your hardest riddles at the beginning of the game. Besides, she loved the poetry of this particular puzzler.
In marble walls as white as milk,
Lined with a skin as soft as silk;
Within a fountain crystal clear,
A golden apple doth appear.
No doors there are to this stronghold
Yet thieves break in and steal the gold.
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