The White Horse Inn, Act II

[Imladris]

Goldwine, Prince of Cats

I glanced up as a gamin of pygmy stature paced into the room when to my utter bewilderment, his small frame shuddered with unaccountable abhorrent dread. I could sense the fear radiate from him, saw his ocular orb darken with distress. Did he fear me? A new confidence swept through me, a pleasure dawned upon my spirit: I, a prince, was finally being given the reverence I deserved. Yet, a little sorrow haunted me…I was not a choleric fiend, but was an auriferous presence in the room.

To ease his dismay of me and my glory, I licked my paw to show that I didn’t care a fig about him. Such a paltry human. Faran, I realized, truly was a gem among the two-legged ones. The boy, I saw, wanted a thing of crushed grain and yeast. Singed, it offended my nose…in fact, I could almost taste it. If he wished to content himself with such low class, he could I supposed. At least the poor thing wouldn’t carry an empty abdomen about him.

As he darted like a mouse to his hole, I surveyed the woman Gerdwyn. She was a comely cook, really; it delighted me to listen to her ceaseless conversation as she spoke of the little things that other persons would be ennuied with. So typical…I was thankful that Faran had never shown a hint of that fault.

Weariness took me, and curled upon the hearth, tail by nose. The warmth soaked through me, and I think I was soon asleep.