The Wight nodded to the passing fox before responding to Elenna. "Not the slightest idea, thank you. But it happens often. I visited the Prancing Pony once. The fat barkeep chased me out with a broom." He sighed. The race of Man doesn't seem to take to me, really. Don't understand that there's business and pleasure and never the twain shall meet, I guess." He drained his pint. "Ah, speaking of business..."
Elenna excused herself hurriedly and found a less haunted corner of the picnic.
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Beleriand, Beleriand,
the borders of the Elven-land.
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