The stablemaster brought out Dumpling for the Shiriff, and spoke with him a few moments. He shook his head at Halfred’s assurance that the goblin-men were responsible and had been run off in their encounter with the Inn’s gardener. ‘We can only hope that’s true,’ he said, holding the pony’s reins as the sheriff mounted up. ‘Still I’ll take extra care with seeing to the security of the stable.’
Before Halfred could turn Dumpling about and head toward the road, Derufin drew out a sealed letter and handed it to him. 'I know it's not mail day, but will you see that this goes west as soon as you can?' Halfred took the missive and inspected the address. 'Doesn't stay in one place too long does she?' Derufin declined to answer, and Halfred stuck the letter in his inner vest pocket, promising he would see it delivered.
Derufin walked back to the stables slowly. He wished mightily Vanwe was not away. Her Elven senses would be more alert than his, especially at night, as he had always been a sound sleeper. ‘Ah, well,’ nothing to do but just re-learn to catnap,’ he thought to himself, hoping that a better answer would come to him if he just thought on it longer.
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Later, just before lunch, Derufin found himself in the kitchen, wheedling an early feed from Cook. 'I'll take it with me if you don't mind,' he said watching her put thin slices of ham on thick slices of bread smeared with mustard. She wrapped the sandwich in a clean linen napkin, and handed him a few nutbutter cookies. He gave her a winning grin and grabbed two apples for himself, too.
Taking a bite from one of them as he walked out the door, he called back in a muffled voice. 'Don't forget - if you can think of someone to bunk in my quarters for a while, I'd appreciate it, I've got that extra room, and I could use the extra eyes and ears , at least til the crisis, if there is to be one, has passed.'
Cook nodded and waved him off and went back to putting the crust on the blackberry pies she was baking for dinner.
[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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