[Undómë]

‘Yes,’ she said nodding her head at the flames. ‘The hounds are answering the old call. The hunt is up and rides the night.’ Goody turned her head to look at the solemn-faced Halflings. ‘They are tireless . . . and will hound the prey until ‘tis brought to bay. They never lose the scent, be it man, beast, or spirit. Over dirt and stone, through water and air they chase their quarry.

She gazed dreamily back into the fire and in a soft sing-song voice told part of a long forgotten tale . . .

When the winter winds blow and the Yule fires are lit, 'tis best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and the wild heaths. For those who wander out by themselves during the Yule-nights may hear a sudden rustling through the tops of the trees - a rustling that might be the wind, though the rest of the wood is still.

But then the barking of dogs fills the air, fire flashing from their eyes and the hooves of the great horse strike sparks of gold and silver as he shimmers in the moonlight . . .