[Envinyatar]

Derufin had wisely avoided the mathom sale. The headache which had so plagued him at the beginning of the day still lingered, an incipient threat crouching at his temples. Better to avoid the noisy, jostling crowds of mathom-maddened Hobbits, and seek the quiet of the stable.

He was happy, of course, to have set up the sawhorse tables for Miz Cami and for Mistress Aman. It was after all to benefit the party the Inn would throw when Mistress Piosenniel and her wee ones arrived. And he was happy, too, to learn that a good deal of coins had been taken in. But happiest of all was he as he sat in the cool shadows of the stable with Falmar, his critic and companion, to look over his shoulder.

‘Now what do you think of this one?’ he asked, holding the small willow wood figure of a neeker-breeker up for inspection. Motes of dust danced in the shaft of light he held it in, giving it a fey look. Falmar shook her head as if to approve, and he set it down on the table beside him, next to the yellow basswood carving of a small fierce dragon.

‘Hmmm . . . what shall I do next?’ Falmar’s head dipped down, and she nosed the block of ebon-wood. ‘You’re right, my friend,’ answered Derufin. ‘We do need some shadow creatures, don’t we?’ He picked up the block of dark wood, and sawed it into small discrete cubes. Taking up one, he blew the wood dust from its surface, and turned it round in his fingers.

‘An Orc, I think. With some orcish blade in hand. Do you agree?’

Falmar tapped her front hoof soundly on the ground, and snorted her approval. Derufin picked up his small carving knife and began to ease the gruesome figure from the wood.