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Elempķ had ducked behind a rock. Lūgnūt was huddled beneath Elempķ.
"What're you doing there, Lug?"
"It's safe by you, oh Grand Anakronist."
"But I'm not-"
A forlorn yet angry howl cut Elempķ off in mid-denial.
Panakeia looked at them both, hands on hips and shaking her head. "Some warriors you two make."
"I'm not a warrior, I'm a lover."
"Shut up, Lūgnūt," said Elempķ, "and don't mimic my voice."
"What should we do?" Lūgnūt whined.
"Stay out of the way of werewolves, sword wielding madmen, angry balrogs, and all-knowing omnipotent types. Not to mention armies."
"And watch out for Alatar the Brown and his purple riders," Panakeia said, pointing.
"But what should we dooooooo?" Lūgnūt pleaded with irritating vehemence.
"Oh go snarl at somebody!" Elempķ yelled dismissively.
Lūgnūt pouted.
"Oh knock it off, Luggy, you're hopeless when it comes to battle and so am I. I belong in an ivory tower in Umbar. Or at least a jet black one, so long as it has books and scrolls and students that think my every word is golden gossamer lore. And you," he said to Panakeia, "quit standing there like you're disappointed that I'm not some kind of hero and come here out of the line of fire!" Elempķ grasped her hand and pulled her beneath the rock. At least now the ugly Luggy cowering beneath him was offset by the winsome Panakeia beside him. He smiled.
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