[Arry]

‘Indisposed, eh?’ said Skald. ‘Well, isn’t that a fine how’d-ye-do. We can’t go off tomorrow without letting him know, now, can we. It would be one more fault for some of the Elves to catalog against us: Dwarves – a rude people; and unreliable to boot!’ Though most of the Elves in the company had been tolerant and some even welcoming of the Dwarves, the sharp ears of the little band led by Rori Ironfoot could not help but hear a few of the asides others of the Elves had made.

And speaking of Elves . . . of the better sort, that is. Where’s old Cap’n Ondomirë got off to, I wonder. He’s usually made his rounds by now, telling us where we’re to station ourselves.’ Skald stood up, his eyes drifting about the camp. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll just have to get ourselves out to the picket line.’ He clapped his helmet on his head and picked up his axe and buckler.

He waited as Bror got ready; then followed his brother out to their usual places beyond the perimeter of the camp. ‘You know, I was just thinking. That broth we had at lunch was just shy of being “off”. I wonder if Lord Elrond has a delicate stomach – like Great-granny Stonecut had. May her bones rest in peace beneath the mountain! Remember? If she ate something a bit too old, it would turn on her so to speak. Back-door-trotties something fierce. Wonder if that’s what the Elves mean by “indisposed”.’ He nodded his head as he thought on it. ‘Now that’s something you can forgive him for – being “indisposed”.’

The more he thought on it, the funnier it seemed to him. And soon he was drawing odd looks as he walked along chuckling.