[Celuien]

Sleet poured down, battering the van with the fury of a . Panakeia sat inside glumly. This is horrible. Half the day gone and I've hardly even started. If only I could melt this horrid ice. She sighed.

Across from her, one of the grips, wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Escape from Mordor," pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Foul smelling smoke filled the air. Panakeia coughed. The grip glared at Panakeia. "So, you're one of the overly health conscious nuts who challenges my right to smoke?" He blew a cloud of noxious fumes into her face.

Of all the rude, insolent ways to behave! I should give him a piece of my mind. Panakeia was about to launch into an invective against the grip when an idea popped into her head. She broke into an enormous smile. Now that's a way to kill two birds with one stone.

"No, not al all. In fact," she smiled, "In fact, I was just going to ask you to share. May I?" She held out her hand.

The grip eyed her suspiciously. "Well, just one. These things are expensive with taxes and all." He handed her a small box, printed with the image of a man wearing a ridiculously large hat, along with a box of matches.

Panakeia snatched the box and scurried out into the driving sleet. To the loud consternation of the now very angry grip, she set the entire box ablaze and held it up to her Cruiser's door. The ice coating the handle melted. She pulled the door open. Bert pushed in ahead of her to claim the passenger's seat. Panakeia quickly seated herself behind the wheel.

The injured grip ran up to her. "What's the matter with you?" he shouted angrily. "10 Trolls up in smoke."

"Oh, do calm down. Up in smoke is where they would have gone anyway. Here, I'll give you something to replace it." Panakeia rummaged through her sample case. She tossed him a package of black licorice and a box of Hammered Armor Tooth Whitener. "There, that should cheer you up. And it's worth far more than 10 Trolls. Why, I would have charged anyone else 15." The grip disagreed. He continued to yell at Panakeia.

The orc scampered up to the group and ordered the grip back to the van. "Whewe awe woo goin'?” he cried out to Panakeia. “Woo can'th leave uth."

"I'm afraid I have to. I can't wait for your repairs. But I'm sure Bert here will capture anything of interest on kamura. You know where were going. See you at the Resort." Panakeia slammed the door and set off, sliding over the ice. Behind her, the crew sprang back into action under the orc's direction, struggling to replace the door on the van.

Just ahead, Panakeia spotted a sign over the road. "M25 to M1. Mount Doom Casino and Resort and other Recreational Facilities." An arrow pointed to a crisscrossing set of ramps, but gave no clear indication as to which was correct one. She asked Bert, hoping that a Native Mordorian might know the roads. "Which way is Mount Doom? Right or left?"

"Right. No, left."

"Left?"

"Right."

Panakeia gritted her teeth. She looked down at the controls in front of her. One was the likeness of a troll with a large belly. Lines circled the edges of the troll's abdomen, dividing it into portions from "F" to "E." An arrow pointed three-quarters of the way towards the F. At least we have plenty of gas. She turned to the left and hoped for the best.