[Imladris]

Goldwine, Prince of Cats

Like a golden shadow gilding in their wake, I followed the woman who’s appellation appeared to be Gerdwyn and who also seemed to be the heir of the strange realm called kitchen. I was well acquainted with that kingdom: ‘twas the place where the meats dwelt.

After a quick surveillance of the room, I immediately saw an empty corner amid the clutter of the concaved and valleyed pottery, claimed it and christened it as my throne from henceforth. With my domineering eye, my hind appendage curled tightly about my white flecked paws, I oversaw the doing of the kitchen. Crushed leaves of flavor drenched the walls as a fragrant balm, the silver glimmer of a silver sharpness attached to a plank of wood, amputated vegetables of green and silver hues while their mutilated forms were poured with unrepentant ceremony into a pot and a knew they sank to their inevitable doom, the final fate of which would be met in human’s gut. A sigh escaped me, but yet a certain joy flooded my trodden spirit: that fate did not await me. A smug grin grew upon my triangular face, a purr rattled within my bones.

The two humans escaped their labours and were now sipping a steamy elixir. With a flair of my tail, I sailed from my golden throne and leaped to Gerdwyn’s feet. Rubbing myself against her supporting limb, I curled my tail about her knee, and renewed my purring with feline vigor. Her hand dropped down to my head, and stroked me. Then I kissed her as only nobility knew how.
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Faran wondered where Sigrid was, but decided instead to start on the stable. Not much wood could be saved, but still it didn’t hurt to start things quickly. Wading into the muck of charred timber, Faran scanned the area for at least some sort of wood that could be salvaged.

Puffs of ash poofed into the air as he stepped. Smiling, he hopped and grinned at the cloud of dust that enveloped him. Biting his lip he tensed his muscles for a giant leap into the air and sprung upwards. Unfortunately, he also jumped forwards and crashed through a precariously balanced bit of wood and fell full length to the ground, drowning in a murky sea of swirling ash. Flailing his arms he coughed and crawled to his feet. Spluttering, he spat the dust out of his mouth and rubbed his ankle with a groan. When would he learn that he was a sensible adult and not a rough and tumbled lad any more?

Soon, there was a mound of unusable wood, and a pitiful pile of short chunks of timber that could be reused. Wiping the rivers of sweat from his forehead with a grimy sleeve, he looked about him and envisioned a grand stable. In his hand he held the nicest piece of wood that he had found as he rummaged through the corpse of the stable: horses sprang from the wood with noble mien and pranced to wars and battles unknown. Yes, that piece must be saved.