Yuletide

A tale told in happy days by Leothwise, scop of Shepstead, on a dark Yule evening when cheer and mead flowed well into the evening. 

Listen! 

A December Night
by Miss Corydalia Birdsfoot of the Little Delving Birdsfoots
with extreme apologies to W.S. Gilbert

When a hobbit’s not engaged in digging taters (digging taters)

Nor is elbow-deep in scrubbing pots and pans (pots and pans)

It had been a long and tiring year for both Manadhlaer and Curulinn, including, on one memorable occasion, both simultaneously. Snow lay on the High Moor, and while it seemed like autumn yet lingered in the Vale, Turuhalmë had just passed. Someone had gifted the healers a large supply of the sweet biscuits charmingly referred to as "cookies" by i Pheriannaith, the Shire-folk, and Manadhlaer's wine-cellar was legendary -- if somewhat diminished since Lord Anglachelm had spent a night in it.

It was a cold winter, especially moreso in the northern regions such as the woods of Annúndir that resided between the Fields of Fornost and Kingsfell. Despite the temperature, the day was glowing, but the sun hid behind a mask of clouds. It was to be expected as light comes with heat, and if heat was masked so should light.

To:

Mr. Brablo Boffin

Boffin's Burrow

6th Brookbank