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18
In Dungeons Deep and Caverns Old

Originally written for the LiveJournal tolkien_weekly "Mealtimes: Elevenses" challenge. And no, the interpretation of the prompt is no less twisted than "Breakfast" was...


~~~

Slipping and sneaking in the utter blackness of Moria the creature, well used to the roots of mountains, does not lose his way - or his quarry. He smells them, glimpses them from afar with his great pale eyes, even counts them obsessively under his breath as they grope cautiously forward:

"Wizard, yes - we doesn't like his staff, it burns usss, precious! Hulking great Men, two, three; hairy Dwarf, ugh! four; nasssty Elf, fiveses; stupid fat Hobbitses, pah! six, sevens, eights, nineses. Pony made ten, but they lost him, yesss. And we, preciousss... - a hastily-stifled snigger in the darkness - makes elevenses!

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