* Gandalf stirred in his sleep, like ashes probed by the touch of a cold breath of moldy wind. Fire's gone out, he thought to himself. Sensing something, he removed the Elven Ring from his finger, unseen by anyone, and carefully, silently, slipped it for safekeeping into a pouch he carried. He'd been sleeping with his staff at his side, now he reached out for the staff while looking to see how close the Black Presence had come during the time he'd spent gaining consciousness and fumbling in the dark with the pouch. *
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