[piosenniel]

She had not quite reached the willow tree, when the green band on her wrist began to glow again. In the background, near the Party Tree she could hear a great chant had gone up. Looking back back she saw another wizard had entered the party. And what an entrance! Her brows raised at the flames licking round the front gate, then relaxed as she saw the SVF (Shireling Volunteer Firefighters) already organising a bucket brigade.

The green wrist band glowed brighter.

‘Yes, your Wightliness,’ she said in a hurried tone, her eyes trying to penetrate the leafy branches of the willow no too far away now. ‘I’ve finished my writing for the day,’ came the familiar deep voice in a peevish tone. ‘Is it time for the fireworks yet?’ Pio glanced at the position of the sun – ‘Going on evening just now, Wight. Give it a couple of hours, two at the most and I shall have the old fellow start lighting his rockets and star-bursts.’ A few mumbled words followed, something about a silvered dragon having returned and what about . . .

‘You are breaking up, Sir,’ replied Pio crumpling a piece of notepaper she’d fished out of her pocket near the bracelet. ‘Take a nap . . .you sound tired . . . .’ She crackled the paper a few more times and clicked the off button on the band.

She had just reached her intended target when a gentle voice called out to her. ‘Piosenniel! I’ve finished my preparations along with the aid of my three good helpers here!’ The old man stood at the edge of the path, a bouquet of rockets held in his hand. From behind him, hidden by his voluminous robes, came the sound of laughter and quick shushings. ‘Ancalimon,’ she said, crouching down as she tried to peek around him. ‘Who is that hiding behind your robes, I wonder?’ A chorus of giggles followed, and three smiling faces peeked out from behind the old man. ‘Ammë!’ cried the three as they hurtled toward Pio, nearly knocking her over. ‘We’ve sorted the fireworks out for Uncle,’ said Isilmir. ‘By color,’ said Gilwen, her comment following closely on her twin’s. ‘And I’ve sorted the straws out he’s going to use to light them,’ added little Cami, a serious expression on her face. Her three little ones grabbed Ancalimon’s robes and drew him near their mother. ‘Go on, tell her,’ prompted Isilmir, his grey eyes on the old man’s face. ‘Yes, tell her,’ chorused the girls. Ancalimon, his blue eyes twinkling, laughed at the eager trio. ‘I’ve promised them they might each light one of the smaller fireworks when the show opens.’

‘Ooh!’ came a piping voice from the branches above the little group. ‘It’s Rory!’ cried little Cami, peering up through the leaves. ‘What’re you doing up there?’ asked Gilwen, coming to stand beside her sister. ‘And Daisy . . . where did you get that green hair.’ ‘Ooh! I like it,’ joined in little Cami, her eyes shining.

The two Hobbit children climbed down to the ground, and were soon taken up in asking questions about the fireworks and when were they to see them. Pio could hear the leaves rustling above her. ‘You had best come down, too,’ she called up through the leaves. ‘And bring down that last present that needs to go back on the table, if you please.’ Pimpernel shinnied down the trunk and walked sheepishly over to where Pio stood, the Metaserver in his hand.

Ancalimon took the six children in hand, saying he could use them all as his assistants. Pio mouthed her thanks to him, and taking the wayward gift went to replace it on the table . . .