[the guy who be short]

Fléin lifted his head from the papers in front of him. "Come in," he called in response to the knock at the door, before twisting around in his chair most uncomfortably so as to be able to see whoever had took it upon themselves to disturb him.

The squat figure of Wilhelmina shuffled into view. There followed what many novelists call a Moment, for lack of something more imaginative. A Moment, in any case, is when a series of events happen rather quickly, perhaps in the space of a few seconds. The writer has, then, to produce a large piece of text to cover a tiny period of time. It is conventional for the author to inform the reader before this happens, just to let them know what's what and pressure them to read the next little bit as quickly as possible.

Wilhelmina came into sight. The sun, usually feeble and exhausted in Mordor, sent a powerful beam through the window of the small room to rest upon the woman's face. The light glinted majestically off her whitening hair, reflected from her rosy skin, radiated from her ferrety ferret.

Fléin looked up at Wilhelmina. Their eyes met, hers gleaming and bright in the sun, his still a little red from the conjunctivitis.

Something odd happened to Fléin's stomach. It wasn't a contraction. It wasn't a grumble, a rumble, or any sort of omen of gastronomical problems. It wasn't cramp. Fléin put a hand to his stomach. It was oddly warm and felt sort of - well, the best way to describe it is sort of fuzzy. Yes, that was it. A warm, glowing fuzziness in his stomach.

The Dwarf broke into a fit of coughing.

The reader may note that the Moment is now over.

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Wilhelmina rushed into the room. "Are you alright, Fléin?" she cried. Due to the size of the room, she stopped rushing very quickly and simply stood awkwardly in front of the still violently erupting Dwarf, now standing upright but almost bent double.

"All... all right," he managed in between a few coughs, to signify his confidence regarding his continued existance. "It feels," cough, "like I," cough, "swallowed," cough, "a cat," he gasped, before falling onto hands and knees and making retching noises.

Wilhelmina watched with startled interest as what appeared to be a small Siamese cat clambered out of the Dwarf's throat and, still a little phlegmy, twitched out of the open door and ran away.

The Dwarf pushed himself to his feet, bright red, to face his visitor, now sitting calmly on his bed. "Whyever did you swallow a cat, Fléin?" she inquired politely, as if this were a regular occurence that people should be discouraged from doing, like smoking.

Fléin muttered something to the effect of "I didn't, must be a ruddy Anakronism, ruddy Mordor," before inquiring about her visit.

"I just popped in to see how you're doing my Dwarf," she said a little dubiously, regarding a little excess phlegm still on the floor where the Dwarf had been.

"I'm fine, I assure you... that was just a sudden thing. I don't know - I can't explain - that is to say, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but it hasn't happened before."

But the old woman was no longer listening. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at the desk where the Dwarf had been working before she came in. Before he could answer, she got up, walked over to the desk and turned to the first page of the book he had there. The title page had many titles on it, crossed out one after another, so:

My Diary. My Unexpected Journey. There and Back Again. Adventures of Seven Miscellaneous People. The Tale of the Great Escape, compiled by Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfoots from his own observations of the nutters around him.

Wilhelmina leafed through the book, seeing that it was barely written in. Next to it was a smaller book, with Diary written across it, also nigh empty.

"I didn't imagine you as the literary type," she looked up at the Dwarf again. "You should talk to that Waldo, he loves this arty sort of stuff, you know."

"I'm not generally a very literary person," he replied to supplement the evidence of his attempts at naming the book. He continued in response to her puzzled expression. "When we're all done and out of Mordor, I can sell this for a fortune. It will be a hit!"

Wilhelmina thought for a second. "I don't see," she began after the pause, "how you can think about money at a time like this."

"Bah! Humbug! You're not one of those communists, are you?"

"No, of course not-"

"Good! Next time that Cahal Mahks hands me a revolutionary leaflet, I'll cleave him in two!"

"- but I do think that, if everybody were a little nicer to one another, and a little less obsessed with Gold, perhaps the world would be a nicer place, and Mordor would stop existing."

There was a silence save for the noise of Wilhelmina plonking herself onto Fléins bed. "That's a nice thought, but you realise there's no logic behind it?" Fléin finally answered.

In response, Wilhelmina stroked Mr Swanky. Fléin watched her on his bed, a scene of tranquility and peace, with a smile on his face. Several seconds passed.

A few seconds later, were one standing outside the room, one would hear the noise of vomiting, following by a small miaow.