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Derufin excused himself from the table and making his way back to the kitchen peeked in through the door. ‘Cook?’ he called, waiting to hear her familiar voice. She was in the pantry, emptying a sack of flour into the bin, a white cloud floating round her for her efforts.
‘I thought I’d just save the lasses some trouble,’ he said as she looked up at him. ‘Benat and Hob and Anyopa and Zimzi and I are here for a meal and a round of drinks. If you don’t mind I’ll just load up a tray with bowls of stew and biscuits and such and take it on out to our table.’
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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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