* As Gandalf blinked the last of the greasy black film from his eyes and the world swung into focus, he noticed an unfamiliar woman walk up to Bethberry. The stranger had the surreal perky calm of a washer woman volunteering to scrub all the dust off the road after a sandstorm in the Southern deserts of Harad. Duly impressed, Gandalf bowed. *
Hail and well met, Miss. What aid you are able to lend, will be most welcome.
* Suddenly realizing that he was still clutching the sword with peculiar vigor, Gandalf sheathed the weapon. He took a seat around the campfire where Bethberry indicated as the stranger helped pass cups of steaming lemon balm tea around to all assembled. The horse from Mordor looked on. Gandalf spoke to the animal again. *
You are free now. Go, or stay, as you wish, in peace, and we shall not trouble you.
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