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Memories stirred uncomfortably in Celuien's mind at the sight of Fordim's lengthening nose. She seemed to remember a tale of another whose nose had grown. Could Fordim hold the secret to his own regeneration, and his request for hugs be a mere ploy? She quickly banished the thought. No one who had been to high Taniquetil would do such a thing. Then again, what had he done to merit being stalked by petty dwarves? For now, Celuien decided to operate under the assumption that hugs were indeed the cure for Fordim's condition. After all, the results of the hugs he had received had been seen and his improvement was indisputable.
But what to do next? The efforts put forward by Fea and Celuien had done little to help. Not even Glirdan's Bear-Hug had been enough for a cure. Fordim's case was desperate, and it called for desperate measures.
Celuien stood up and called to the assembled guests. "Fea, Glirdan and I have attempted to aid Fordim to the best of our abilities, but our efforts have not been sufficient. I fear that we must take drastic action and use the ultimate weapon of hugging. We must use the Group Hug of Doom. Who will join me?"
Fordim's jaw dropped to the floor, literally. He quickly retrieved his mandible from its landing place under a table and set it back in place. "Now, don't be hasty," he said. "Shouldn't we think this over some more?"
But it was too late. The Downers formed a Ring around him. At least two-dozen arms encircled Fordim's corpse.
Several Downers were overcome by the odor Fordim emitted and fell to the ground. The others, including Celuien, whose nose was still too congested to fully appreciate his condition, continued to hug away. When they felt that they had done their best, they scattered. Only time, and Fordim, could tell if they had cured him at last.
Humming a little tune, Celuien set off in search of Bęthberry and her herbal remedies. The dust allergy had served her well for the Fordim project, but she was starting to grow tired of sneezing and her other unpleasant symptoms.
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