[piosenniel]

Pio pulled her chair about so that she faced the table. Crossing her arms on the table’s top she scrunched down and rested her chin on them. The fingers of her left hand drew lazy little spirals in the rings of ale condensed there from their many mugs.

Angara stretched out her neck and came snout to nose with the Elf.

“I had some doubts about this party,’ the dragon remarked, her head nodding slightly. Her tail swished lightly across the wooden surface, coming to rest as it curled beneath her chin. “But I must say the food offerings are quite tasty. And I applaud the resident barrel-master on the excellent wine, not to mention that ambrosial brew – the dark ale, especially.” As if to punctuate her approval, Angara gave a toothy grin.

“Glad it’s come up to your standards, Old One!” Pio returned. Noticing a half full plate of beef ribs nestled alongside a small mound of crisped tater slices, she reached out and pulled it nearer her companion. “Might as well polish these off, my dear – other wise they’ll be relegated to the slops bucket and it’s the pigs that will be enjoying them.”

“Hmmph!” Angara snorted. “I hope you are not comparing me to a pig!” She eyed the proffered plate and took in the scent of meat and taters. “For one thing, pigs cannot fly. And for another, they are my tasty morsels – I am not theirs.” The last few words of her declaration were muffled and she munched of the beef, her strong jaws crunching through the bone as if it were nothing. “Say,” she went on having swallowed the first mouthful. “Don’t we know that fellow over there?” She raised her head up high and nodded toward a table across the way.

Pio raised up in her chair, surveying the area of the room her companion indicated.

He was turned away from her, so she just caught a small portion of his face. His black hair was unremarkable, and if she narrowed her gaze she caught a few glints of silvered grey tucked in among the ebon. He wore a grey velvety sort of jerkin, white shirt, and the loudest pair of royal blue breeches she had seen in a very long time. He looked well nourished, at least from the back – his jerkin showed some tight creases in the back as he moved in his chair. “Hmmmm… seems familiar,” she murmured. His companion, she noted, was a well attired Uruk.

But wait. Who’s that?” Her eyes had caught a small black and silvered dragon resting near the man.

Angara snorted, giving a sly grin followed closely by a rumbly chuckle. “Mastered that form, hasn’t she?”

“You didn’t think to tell me Bird was here?” Pio asked, her eyes narrowing at her companion.

“We dragons don’t intrude on each other. And besides – where’s that keen elvish eyesight that misses nothing? If you hadn’t been throwing back those mugs of ale and showing off your singing, you’d no doubt have noticed. And furthermore…” The remainder of Angara’s comment was cut off as Pio began laughing.

“And so that fellow you first pointed out - the one in the bright blue pants. That’s Mith, isn’t it?” She stood up, hands on hips, and gave him an appraising once over.

“By the One, I wondered what he’d got in to. “