[Estelyn Telcontar]

Pimpiowyn wandered about the encampment, for encampment it now was. Night had fallen, and no one had volunteered to pick it up. Instead the Tellyship had set up tents and settled down for the evening. The young shieldmaiden went to and fro, offering a bowl of her stew to all and sundry. Sundry declined, so she approached Kuruharan. The dwarf normally accepted anything that was given to him for free, but after a look at the stew, he said, “No, I couldn’t!” as regretfully as he could manage. One after the other shook his head, mentioned a total lack of hunger, or shrugged, pleading too many snacks or a diet as a reason.

Finally she came to Merisuwyniel, looking at her with trustful eyes. (Had we mentioned that these were extraordinarily large and extremely blue? In one of his romantic moments Vogonwë had compared them to normal eyes as dinner plates to saucers, a metaphor that applies completely only if said dinnerware is of a deep azure.) “I made some stew,” she said. “It isn’t much, but it’s hot.”

Merisu’s kind heart could not reject the bowl proffered her, doubtful as its contents might have looked, and accepted it and the accompanying spoon with a smile. Relieved, Pimpi stood and watched as she inserted a bite of meat between her lovely lips. The piece lingered there for a moment before it was finally swallowed. The Elf gulped, gasped slightly, then mumbled, “It’s good.”

“Really?!” Pimpi grinned, happy that she had been able to make someone happy. She turned away, giving Merisu an opportunity to tilt the bowl in a way detrimental to its purpose, namely that of holding the substance with which it was filled. Unfortunately for her, the Half-Halfling spun around again. With truly instantaneous Elven reflexes, she straightened the bowl. “Please, eat!” Pimpi encouraged her, and she managed to empty the bowl with a convincing show of enthusiasm.

Now, it has never been told that an Elf could suffer from indigestion; the image of one burping or exhibiting even more unpleasant symptoms is unthinkable! However, that was the only explanation that occurred afterward to the Elven maiden for the dream she had that night.

She saw the face of her beloved Gravlox, in itself not an unusual event; she had often dreamt of him, her faithful heart mourning his death night after night. Yet in this dream he was strangely changed! Hair of wheaten gold, eyes almost as blue as Pimpi’s, a nose worthy of a god – this was not her Gravlox!! Shapely lips moved to call her name: “Merifflssullff!”

Is this the face that launched a thousand ships? she thought - strange words these that came to her, and she knew not what they meant nor whether they spoke of this time or another. She awoke with a start, bathed in (no, not sweat – this is an Elf, remember?!) the sweet dew of fear mingled with longing. She tried to recall her beloved’s face, but the image of her dream had superimposed itself on her memory. It was long before she could go back to sleep, and her dreams, though restless, were gone from her mind when morning came at last.