[Estelyn Telcontar]

Far away, over the river and through the woods, on their way back home from wherever it was that the Velour had pursued the enemies, the Valleyum dudes and dudettes conversed excitedly, high on the unwonted triumph of having actually accomplished something useful.

“That was fun!” Prada laughed. “Let’s do it again!”

“Naw, let’s, like, have a party to celebrate!” Chanessa countered.

“But what about the rest of the foes?” Manuël objected, feeling responsible for a change.

“It’s, like, their problem – let them handle it,” Mantoes suggested. “Like, it’s not our fault – we’re not Rent-an-Ent, after all!”

“But we could at least go see what’s happening,” TMUlmo said.

“You know what? I bet they’d totally appreciate some support,” Estë-Lynn exclaimed. “Let’s, like, give them some cheerleading!”

The female Velour whipped Pôm-Pôms and tiny skirts out of their miniature designer backpacks and started cartwheeling toward the battlefield. The males followed, trying to look dignified and masculine and lagging a bit to make it look like they weren’t really associated with the females. Suddenly Haulie’s steps lengthened noticably. Irritated, Manuël asked, “Hey, what’s with the hurry, dude?”

“I can feel something – Yawanna is in trouble,” he answered curtly.

“So what do you care?” Mantoes wondered. “Isn’t she Mel’s gal now?”

“The Ent is endangered too,” Haulie added. “They will have need of the wood,” he stated cryptically. He started running, and such was his strength and the speed of his legs that he soon reached the newly green battlefield.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Yawanna and the fellows and gals of the Fellow/Galship had spent their strength in attempting to reach Merisuwyniel and wrest her from Mogûl’s grasp, but the might of his concentration had held them at bay, or at least at arm’s length, effortlessly.

“Haulie!” Yawanna exclaimed with a choke that could be interpreted as a sob of relief, or perhaps a cry for help, or perhaps something completely different or nothing at all.

Mogûl turned to see who approached and greeted him casually. “Howdy, Haulie! Wassup, dude?”

“You’re up, and to no good, as usual,” Haulie retorted. “You have something that belongs to my spouse, and you’d better give it back to her, or...”

“Or what? Will you send some Dwarfies to get it for you?” Mogûl mocked.

“I will create some good Loyers to fight you on your own terms!” Haulie answered.

“But good Loyers are Mith-ical!” Mogûl laughed. “They don’t exist, and if they did, they would be a contradiction in terms and therefore completely ineffective!”

Merisuwyniel gasped as his grip on her tightened. She was finding it difficult to maintain her usual poise under the circumstances. Orogarn Two, who felt the loss of his heroic power most keenly, made one last, desperate attempt, and lo! Mogûl’s concentration had loosened and he charged forward, waving his sword in a manner that was more foolhardy than brave. He managed to slash the Velour’s arm, startling him more than actually hurting him, but causing him to release his hold on the Elven maiden.

Mogûl turned to his aggressor with a snarl, lowered his head, and with a headbutt pierced him with the sharp points of his deadly crown. Orogarn slumped to the ground, mortally wounded, and with his last breath cried out to Merisu, “Take this, and check out my lucky nickel! It will help you in your hour of need!” He reached into a pocket of his well-worn (or Vínt-âge, as they were called) blue pants and took out his wallet, tossing it to the Elf, who caught it nimbly and gracefully (of course). Then he expired, and those who beheld him in his death saw the splendour of the expiration date which was printed on the sole of his shoes.

At that moment Haulie lifted his mighty hammer, raising it high, and smote the ground before Mogûl’s feet. “You – shall – not – sass!” he cried loudly, and the earth cracked. A quick-thinking vine lashed out, entwining itself about Mogûl’s ankles and pulling him into the crack, and another quickly caught Merisu before she could fall with him. With a terrible cry, Mogûl plunged down into the depths of Muddled-Mirth’s bowels. All that the Leftovership heard was his parting shout, “Spy, you mules!”, then they saw him no more. (No one understood what his last words meant, for which reason they were remembered for all times and thought to be particularly astute.)

Stunned by the monumental events they had just witnessed, the assembled company stood in shocked silence for a moment. Leninia burst into tears, remembering Orogarn Two’s strong embrace and mourning his loss, as they all did. But soon Yawanna threw her arms around Haulie in what looked to be the beginning of a reconciliation and reunion. Merisuwyniel was comforted tenderly by Gravlox, and Pimpiowyn kissed Vogonwë just because she felt like it. The others cleared their throats and bowed their heads before gently picking up the hero’s body and carrying it to the cart with the pieces of Ent upon it. It seemed fit to all that he should be borne in honour with the wooden artefacts. But where should they bring him, and what should they do next?

“We must carry on with our Quest and bring it to completion,” Merisuwyniel announced. “Orogarn (“Two”, someone whispered, just out of habit) would have wanted us to do that.” She turned to the Green Goddess questioningly.

Yawanna pointed to a white peak on the horizon. “We must go to the holy mountain of Tan-Quickly-Hill. There are the sun studios that are most holy to the Velour, and there shall the Ent be reunified. Follow me!”