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‘We should go, Derufin.’ Zimzi stifled a yawn and pulled her shawl up more securely round her shoulders. ‘We told my brothers we would meet them just southwest of Greenholm. And I still have a little packing to do.’
Derufin fetched her cloak from the pegs by the front door to the Inn and said their good-byes to friends about the room. He settled her cape on her shoulders and shrugged his own on.
Bending down to pat Cullen on the head, Derufin gave the hound a scratch between the ears and the last bit of a tart Zimzi had left on her plate. ‘I hope we’ll see you when we get back,’ he said to Benat. ‘You are staying for the Faire, aren’t you?’
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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