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Hilde tried to imagine her sweet children’s hair all the luminous colors of the fireworks she watched, brilliant reds, and greens, cool blues and crackling gold. They might look quite nice as long as it wasn’t permanent, she thought yawning. Good to know though, that there were folk about who could undo such things incase a hobbit’s hair proved a more stubborn type.
“I do apologize,” Hilde said. “It has been a long day and the fresh air and good food it seems has taken its toll. No reflection on your delightful company! You see my husband has nodded off already,” she said pointing to a stocky hobbit asleep propped up by an even stouter tree, and snoring rather loudly.
“Ah! What is happening over there?” Nerindel said turning to face up hill, as her keen eyes followed a misfired rocket. A small burst of flame was followed by overwhelming shadow and more fire, until Hilde saw the stalwart SVF (the heroes of Hobbiton) arrive with buckets of water to douse the blaze. “If I am not mistaken there is a Balrog on The Hill!” the elf observed. Both women shuttered.
“You never know who might show up at these parties with open invitations, now do you!” Hilde remarked. “Especially one where the guest of honor hold such a reputation.” she said with a wink.
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