The Entish Bow stood propped up next to the Sharing Hammock. It was accustomed to being laid aside when swords were unsheathed, since it was useless in close combat. Suddenly the sound of a voice nearby woke it from its dozing.
“Well, Mr. Gravlox,” it said, “this is a nice pickle we’ve landed ourselves in!”
Startled, the Bow shook itself awake, thinking that it had been dreaming. Strangely, Merisuwyniel was no longer seated next to it, but the unknown male who, though he was an enemy, apparently meant her no harm. The voice seemed to come from his lower appendage.
“Who speaks?” the Bow asked. “Your voice seems familiar, yet I recognize it not.”
“And I feel that I should know yours also,” the answer came, slightly muffled. “I am the unfortunate wooden substitute for the lost foot of this brave captain.”
The Bow gasped. Could it be? Was this wood of his wood and branch of his branch? It trembled so strongly that it fell over, touching the wooden ankle which was revealed between ill-fitting boots and too-short trousers. In blissful reunion, the Entish relics communicated silently with one another, which is just as well, since their conversation was much too lengthy and boring to be related here.
° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °
Merisuwyniel stirred, sensing more than seeing the approaching of faint light on the eastern horizon and hearing the sounds of birds awaking. How could so much time have passed since she had come here? She touched Gravlox’ hand shyly and said, “Oh say, can you see? It is dawn’s early light!”
“Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day,” he protested.
“It was the lark, and not the nightingale that pierced the fearful hollow of mine ear,” she replied.
“Nay, that raucous sound comes from crebain of Dunland,” he corrected. “Hide!”
She threw the folds of her Elven cloak over the Hammock, concealing them perfectly from all intruding eyes. After a longer time than was strictly necessary to be certain of safety, she reluctantly drew it back again.
“You must be gone and live, or stay and die,” she admonished.
“When shall we two meet again?” he asked, gazing longingly at her face.
“O, think’st thou we shall ever meet again?” she breathed.
“I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come,” he replied fervently.
“A thousand times good day!” she said yearningly, slowly letting go of his hand.
“’Twill be a thousand nights to be away!” He tore his eyes from her lovely features and turned, disappearing from her sight between the trees.
Sighing, she picked up the Bow, wondering fleetingly that it was lying on the ground next to the place where her Orcish beloved had been seated. With light, graceful and swift steps, she ran back to Careless Gardenhon.
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
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