The fox graciously accepted the food. Why thank you, lady!
The fox turned at the words perilous play-wight. And lo and behold, a fea was emerging from the poet's corpse. Nay, not a fea, a Wight! Several guests were not panicking. The fox shrugged. After living in the shade of the Downs for so long, and in the queer Old Forest, such things were quite natural.
What have we here? Our strange poet is a Wight! the fox exclaimed, moving closer for a better look. A hobbit trips over the fox.
[ September 24, 2002: Message edited by: GreatWarg ]
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"What shall we do, what shall we do!" he cried. "Escaping goblins to be caught be wolves!"
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