For Vulgarweed's birthday over at HASA.
"...Gandalf's grumpy, as usual." Peregrin's plaintive tones drift over. Without fire all are chilled, even stoic Dwarf and lighthearted Elf, and the damp is in my joints.
Yet as I shift to ease my sore back memory flares, briefly... once I was not bound in weary bone and chafed flesh, but made of fire and air, follower in the train of the Lord of Eagles, alive in endless Music...
The thought flickers, vanishes, in a flash.
"Forgive me, Pippin. I am but an old man, and my knees ache." I sigh heavily, and reach into my cloak for my pipe.