[piosenniel]

It was at this point that a small stray rocket, launched from an unfortunately overturned wine bottle, found its way hissing and zinging toward the ancient pair as they perused the leaves of a mildly scorched book.

To the dark, smoky Flame-of-Udun boy it was naught but a small fiery midge to be flicked away with a flaming thump of finger and thumb. But as misfortune would have it, a stray ember or two found purchase on the cloth of Bethberry's gown. And she swatted at then to put them out.

The Hobbiton brigade of the Volunteer Fire Department ran lickety-split to throw a bucket of water on the burning lady - her own efforts inneffective in the face of Fordim's attempt to help her with swats from his own flaming hands.

'Stand back, if you please Master Balrog!' cried Hamfast Greenburrow. 'You're turning our efforts all to steam!' The embers were put out at last - the damage minimal.

Hamfast, as he had been directed, followed the scorched landing path of the rocket and brought it back to Pio.

'It's one of those Acme Absolute Rockets,' said the Elf, peering closely at the charred cylinder. 'On of those that reflect well against the dark night sky.'

'Shouldn't a' really burned her then, should it?' commented Hamfast, who was well known at the Green Dragon for his deep thinking, deep pockets, and the ability to hold his ale.

'Shouldn't have burned her?' echoed Pio, waving the still smoking missile under the Hobbit's nose.

'All smoke and mirrors it is,' said Hamfast, taking hold of the errant rocket. 'It's like this, Mistress Piosenniel . . .'

But before he could enlighten her, the cry of 'Buckets Here!' rang out and he scrambled off to a a nearby forsythia into which one of the candle lanterns from an overhanging tree had dropped . . . leaving Pio to wonder what he had meant by his metaphor . . .