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Old 01-11-2004, 07:36 PM   #120
The Barrow-Wight
Night In Wight Satin
 
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Sting

Orogarn Two checked his pockets thoroughly to make sure that Earnur hadn’t pilfered anything valuable. The Dun Sobrin’s poking and prodding had seemed very intentional, and he couldn’t be sure if Lord Etceteron had been trying to pick his pockets or cop a feel. Since Earnur was constantly breathing heavy sighs at the irritatingly lovely Merisu, the latter was very unlikely, so Orogarn checked his pockets again. Everything was in place, so he took a moment to gather up his scattered papers and re-stuff them into Singéd’s saddlebags.

Since his removal from Skinflint’s trap, Orogarn Two had noticed his pony was hanging his head a little lower than usual. He realized that the poor creature was upset at having been left alone in the creepy forest, but it had been for his own good. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to show Singéd that he was appreciated, so he went through one of his bags, removing a clear, hard container with a soft lid that popped as he opened it.

“Is that Tarkerwár”, gasped Pimpi, rushing forward to play with the lid. “Yes, it is! It is! It’s amazing.”

“Yes, it’s Tarkerwár, alright,” grumbled Orogarn Two unenthusiastically. His eyes closed and he drifted back to the endless Tarkerwár parties his mother had forced him and his brother to sit through when they were children. The Citibank would be full of every housewife, princess, and shieldmaiden in the neighborhood, each convulsing ecstatically with every newly shaped container his mother would reveal. The awful things came in a variety of sizes, and he was forced to model them for the ladies, opening and closing the lids to prove their durability and air-tightness. On occasion, he had tried to make the party more exciting with a demonstration of their quality. That morning he had carefully packed each of his brother’s hamsters into its own quart size Tarkerwár bowl, but when his mother brought them out later that afternoon, he did not get the reaction he was hoping for. Along with a solid beating from his father (and a second one from his brother), he was forbidden to attend any more Tarkerwár parties.

“It keeps things incredibly fresh for long periods of time,” he said to the glowing half hobbit.

He reopened the lid that she had closed and revealed that the container was full of oats, which he held out for Singéd to sample. The tiny morosa dove in greedily and emptied it in less than ten seconds, and then nuzzled his master. All was forgiven.

With that taken care of, Orogarn Two’s thoughts turned to the treacherous Ent that had limped off into the forest. The scrubby thing had looked very unhealthy, as well as tired, so it was most likely that Skinflint had retired to his house, thinking that the Grundorian was dead and no longer a threat. Orogarn Two unfolded an old street map and looked at it for several minutes until turning it 180 degrees clockwise. He then stared at it again for a while, sometimes running his fingers along it and shouting loud “Aha!s”. Finally, he closed the map, turned to the north, and started walking, pulling his pony behind him.

“I shall return!” he yelled without looking back. Singéd did look back, though, and gave a plaintiff Help me! look.

Everyone watched the Grundorian walk into the forest, but no one made a move to follow.

“I guess he’ll have to save himself this time,” said someone.

“That’s for sure,” said another, “because I’m not going after him again.”

“Nor I,” agreed a third.

“I’m guessing he’ll not only survive, but come back to tell us what happened,” said the narrator in one of those really cool narrator voices.
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