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A ghostly figure flitted over the dark hillside, a gray glint in the moonlight. A wisp of blue and white rags that might once have been a gown and a few strands of dark hair revealed its identity as Celuien. Fear sat upon her face, for a dreadful rumor had reached her ears. Breathless, she scurried up to a barrow door, half hidden in the fog and darkness. A high-pitched wail pierced the night. A glowing sign on the door mocked her. 403. Forbidden. Celuien had seen this before, usually when she had bungled a Word of Command in the strange tongue of UNIX while attempting to set her own barrow in order. But once it had meant the end. A friend had left that same ominous sign and left for distant lands, never to return. She decided to wait and see. It had been a long trip across the downs. Besides, the bright white background of the sign was beginning to hurt her eyes. She turned around and sat with her back against the door and drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Celuien would soon regret that decision.
Bang! The door flew open with a burst of wind. Celuien toppled over and fell inside. "It's a good thing I'm dead," she thought. "This little adventure would leave a nasty bruise if I were alive." She was beginning to wonder if her descent would ever end when her answer came in the form of a thump from the stone floor of the barrow. Ruefully, Celuien picked herself up, rubbing a sore elbow. But here was a welcome sight! Black walls with dimly glowing green runes greeted her weary eyes. Other figures sat in the barrow, eagerly debating Canonicity and what belonged in Mordor. Celuien smiled and murmured, "Home at last."
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