[Estelyn Telcontar]

Tears ran down Merisuwyniel’s lovely cheeks, making her violet eyes appear even more luminous. She looked so beautiful in her distress that a male of any species would have been filled with the desire to comfort her. However, the only human male observing her was Lord Etceteron, who, though the epitome of manliness, was something akin to a stepfather to her, having been the last love of her recently deceased mother. In other words, their relationship was purely platonic and platonically pure.

Tofu, being a male of the equine species, could not help but be touched by her grief. He nuzzled her cheek, causing her to cry even more copiously. “Weep not, fair Merisuwyniel,” he said. (Well, he actually pronounced it more like “Merry-suh-whinny-el”, but who’s going to niggle about details? I mean, this is a horse that can talk, for crying out loud!)

“But I cannot take you with us,” she sobbed. “Sethamir will not let me leave with both of you at the same time until I have paid the rent. He says one of you stays here as a security.”

“I would not go from this city in any case,” Tofu replied. “I feel that my fate lies here, and I shall find my destiny if I stay.

”Still round the corner there may wait
A hero at a corral gate;
And though I oft have galloped by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall carry down the road the one
Who reaches out for Moon and Sun.”

“But this is the cheapest and worst stable in the whole Wight City,” Merisuwyniel objected. “How can you hope to find a hero here?”

“Heroes can be found in the most unlikely places,” Tofu stated simply. “It may even be that someday the human race will find hope in a lowly stable.”

The Elven maiden stroked his mane, then untied his tethers on an impulse. “Should anything happen,” she murmured, “it will not be difficult for you to free yourself and find your way to your destiny. May the Velour ever guide your steps to green pastures.”

She gave him one last embrace, then turned to lead Falafel to the (instable) stable door. Earnur was waiting for her with his steed Pinkjin, still puzzled over the reason why they should leave the city immediately. However, since he was equipped with an appropriate mount and it had stopped raining, he was quite willing to accompany her on an adventure.

Into this purposeful activity there suddenly burst a flurry of hectic impetuosity. The door barely missed Etceteron’s manly nose and his “I say!” was drowned by a very flood of questions.

“Merisuwyniel, why are you here and not at work? Are you riding away without telling me? And why are you carrying the Bow with you? I haven’t seen it in weeks! I looked everywhere to find you, even in the House of Peeling, but you weren’t there!” Pimpiowyn stopped for breath, something even she had to do once in awhile.

“Cosmetic surgery?” Merisuwyniel asked, puzzled. “Why should I be there? Elven features are inevitably perfect, and I already have pointed ears.”

She had just begun with explanations concerning the continued Quest when a tall, striking figure entered the stable. “Orogarn Two!” four mouths exclaimed simultaneously.

“Son of…” Vogonwë began, stopping abruptly as his beloved’s no longer dainty foot stepped energetically on his, hardly unintentionally.

“Oh, this is wonderful – almost like old times!” beamed Merisuwyniel. “The whole Fellow/Galship, at least what’s left of us, with Kuruharan and Chrysophylax off to strange countries, Pettygast gone who knows where, and dear Halfullion deceased. You know what we should do to celebrate?”

Eight eyes turned expectantly to her.

“Group hug!” she exclaimed.

“You have obviously spent too much time in the House of Feeling,” Orogarn Two said sternly.

“And too little in the House of Dealing,” Etceteron mumbled under his breath.

Vogonwë said nothing, for he was lost in contemplation of the various names of the Houses of Bettifordeth. I knew my inspiration would come back if I just got out of that dingy office! he thought.

Suddenly a black shadow fell across the patch of sunlight that entered through the open door. The temperature seemed to chill several degrees, though a torrid breeze accompanied the black-cloaked apparition that entered the stable. A voice, ghastly in its cheerfulness, spoke, “I’ve come to pick up my horse.”

Pimpiowyn’s big blue eyes widened even more, Sethamir shuddered and pointed to the very last box on the left side of the room, and even Lord Etceteron was cowed into immovability while Orogarn Two stared open-mouthed at the strange sight. Only Merisuwyniel smiled and said, “Why, it’s Grrralph! How are you? I didn’t know you kept a horse here.”