So
the hobbitlings needed to know that the tales he read from
the Wyrd Runes were real. These tales were nothing like the
human-stories that were full of make-believe and nonsense
that the Ogres tell that kept everyone in a state of fear,
to ensure they all worked so hard and bitterly at chopping
down trees to burn in the great furnaces that fueled the Ogre-tractors.
True stories need to be hidden behind moonlight.
Sparrow-cloud's humming was exotic, but the trepidation entrenched
in the hobbitlings was disturbing. Tumby and Tomby, nervous
as they were, had still been the only ones that would even
dare venture out into the night. Tumby clutched at his helm,
as he sat with his legs wrapped around it. Bravely, he had
taken it off, but still clung to it. Whereas Tomby still had
her helm tightly fastened to her head, and would never take
it off, even whilst sleeping, as was becoming the disturbing
trend amongst so many of the villagers.
Sparrow-cloud's hair, was long, just as Fallah's was too.
As rune-readers they had managed to convince the Ogres that
the length of their hair would protect them from the dragon-flame.
Though nobody really believed that, and mocked them behind
their ears. Her hair was a midnight black, where his was already
fading into grey, revealing his human side; his mortality.
But at least, they had something of an excuse to not wear
a helm.
As the humming softened, and ended, Tumby plucked up the courage
to prod at Fallah. "Come on, old coot, carry on the skald
from last night". At which point Tomby's eyes alighted
and she chipped in, "yes, what happened next? Did the
gnomes really try and trap the Dragon by pretending to build
a castle for it, or were they helping it?"
Fallah's brow twitched as he pondered the question... Next
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