Disclaimer:  All characters belong to Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinema.  This story is non-profit and was written out of the author’s own personal insanity.  Read at your own risk.   May Tolkien have mercy on me. 

*     *     *

“The hobbits turned and fled deep into the shadows of the wood…  They came at length to the edge of the shelf almost at the feet of an old stump…  They saw that that had only come three or four miles into the forest; the heads of the trees marched down the slopes towards the plain.”

“‘The wind’s changing,’ said Merry.  ‘It’s turned east again.  It feels cool up here.’

‘Yes,’ said Pippin; ‘I’m afraid this is only a passing gleam… What a pity… I almost felt I liked the place.’”

----The Two Towers, Book III

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“Almost felt you liked the place?” interrupted a rather high-pitched, squeaky voice.  “Hoooom, yes.  That is an excellent thought indeed!”

Both hobbits jumped, for the voice broke through the eerie stillness of the forest with an effect akin to the sudden cracking of ice on a silent pond.

“Turn around,” it demanded.  “I wish to look upon your faces!”

Pippin and Merry slowly turned around.  And then turned around again.  And again.

“I didn’t ask you to spin,” snapped the squeaky voice, clearly annoyed.  “I wish to see your faces.  Now turn and face me.”

“Pardon me,” said Pippin as the two hobbits slowly spun in another circle, attempting to locate the Voice, “but where are you?”

He heard an exasperated sigh followed by a muffled curse to his left.  “Here!  I’m here!”

Merry winced; the Voice was most unpleasant to the ears.

The two halted their confused circling and looked up.  The hobbits blinked.  Before them, amidst the tangled and shaggy eaves of Fanghorn, there stood…

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

Merry glanced irritably at Pippin.  The latter, who was just as confused, threw up his hands and shrugged.

“I’m very sorry,” Pippin apologized, “but we just can’t seem to find you.”

“Down here.  DOWN HERE!” the Voice became even more high-pitched, if that were possible.  Merry was almost positive his ears were beginning to bleed.

“Oh, right,” Pippin hastened to apologize.  “Sorry.  Very sorry.”

The two hobbits glanced downward.  Their eyes rested upon the owner of the Voice.  Merry gasped.  Pippin didn’t know whether to cry or scream.

“Hoom, hoooooom!” squeaked the Owner of the Voice.  “I am an Ent.  THE Ent.  Some call me Fanghorn.  Now, you, hrum, may call me Treebeard.”

“But, but,” sputtered Merry, “you’re not an Ent!  You're a talking daisy!!!”

And indeed, it was so.  Not only was Treebeard a daisy, but, more specifically, he was a Sultan’s Pride Federation Marguerite Daisy, with, and I quote, “lacy blue-green foliage, simple white single flowers.”  The species is native to the Federation Daisy greenhouses and flower shops, and stands approximately 50 cm in height.  It prefers sunny spots and well-drained soil.  What such a non-native species was doing in Middle-earth remains yet to be seen.

“I am an Ent!” screamed the daisy--Treebeard in rage.  “An Ent!  An Ent!  An Ent!”  The enraged creature began hopping up and down in furious 2-inch leaps.  He was surprisingly agile for a flower.

Something was wrong.  Very wrong.  Pippin was not sure how or why he knew this, but he was most certain that Treebeard was NOT supposed to be a flower.  A quick glance in the direction of Merry confirmed that he, too, believed something was amiss.  Pippin wondered if perhaps the orc draught was having some lasting side effects.

“Say, um, Treebeard,” Merry began tentatively, “aren’t you supposed to be… a tree?”

The screaming daisy stopped his “An Ent! An Ent!” rantings and disdainfully glared at the two hobbits.  “A tree?”  The flower snorted.  He bent his stalk and placed two petals on either side of it, putting forth the impression of one placing his hands upon his hips.  “That’s preposterous.  Whoever heard of a talking tree?”

Unfortunately for the Ent, his words would have had much greater impact on the two hobbits had he himself not been a talking daisy.  As it was, however, the idea of a talking daisy calling a talking tree ridiculous was most absurd.  The irony was not lost on either hobbit.

“Of course,” replied Merry, unsure of what to make of the whole matter, “whoever heard of a talking tree…”

“Exactly,” snapped the Ent.  “Now, who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Well,” began Pippin, “I’m Peregrin Took—call me Pippin, and this is Meriadoc Brandybuck—call him Merry.”

“Hm, hoom, hoooom,” squeaked Treebeard, “I like that.  They are pleasant names.”

Pippin sighed in relief.  Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad after all.  “Yes,” he continued, “and we have just escaped from the orcs.  That’s why we ran into Fanghorn.”

“Orcs!”  The daisy shrieked, causing both hobbits to wince.  He began working himself into another hopping fit.  “Foul beasts!  They are slayers of my kin!”

Merry found himself wondering why an orc would go daisy picking.  It did, however, make for quite an interesting mental picture.

“Come,” squeaked Treebeard, “it grows late.  Let’s journey to my house!”

And with that, he began his 2-inch hopping into the dusky forest.  Pippin and Merry regarded each other for a moment, and then decided that there really was no harm in following the Ent.  After all, they had faced far more terrifying beasts than a squeaking flower.

“This is madness,” mumbled Merry as the two retreated further into the trees.  “If we ever find the others, they will never believe us.”

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Well, I saw somewhere that in the second movie Treebeard would be changed to a talking daisy (I believe it was an April Fool’s joke or something of that nature) and it just sort of bloomed from there.  Oh wow, no pun intended.

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Disclaimer:  All characters are property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinema.  This story was written for purely entertainment purposes and is product of the author’s own insanity.

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~Chapter Two: The Hunt is On ~

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The three hunters plunged into the dry eaves of Fanghorn forest.  Brittle leaves and fallen twigs thickly carpeted the wood, and the footsteps of the hunters (save Legolas, for he walked lightly as was the way of the Elves) crackled and snapped among the trees.

To the delight of the trio, the hobbit tracks were fairly recent and visible.

“What make you of this strange track, Aragorn?”  Legolas knelt down gracefully to examine Treebeard’s imprint.  “Aragorn?”

“Hmmm?”  Aragorn, who had been pondering several excuses to present Eomer regarding the missing Rohirrim horses, snapped out of his revere.

“These strange tracks,” repeated the Elf.  “What make you of them?”

Aragorn carefully stepped over a fallen log and knelt down beside the archer.  He gently brushed aside a few leaves and traced the Ent’s prints with his finger.  The Ranger furrowed his brow.

“Truthfully,” he admitted, “I know not.”

Gimli, never one to stay silent for very long, broke in.

“It is obvious what these tracks are,” exclaimed the Dwarf.

Legolas gave his friend a withering, albeit non-threatening, glare.  “Then by all means, Master Tracker, please enlighten us.”

Gimli squatted down beside the two and pointed to the track.  “That,” he stated triumphantly, “is the point of a walking stick.  One of the hobbits simply found an old stick from this stuffy forest and put it to good use.  And there you have it: mystery solved.”

Legolas rolled his eyes.  “That imprint was not made by a stick.  And,” he added quickly before Gimli could voice his protest, “as an experienced Elf of the wood, far older than you, my young friend, I believe you should trust my judgment on this.”

“Legolas is right,” said Aragorn as he sat back on his heels and massaged his temples in frustration.  “The stride is far too short to keep up with that of a hobbit.”

The Ranger winced as he stood up, both knees popping.  “Come, the sooner we find them, the sooner we shall solve this mystery.”

*     *     *

Merry awoke with an enraged shout.  Waking to Treebeard’s high-pitched voice was akin to having a mosquito buzzing directly in one’s ear.  Merry reacted accordingly: jerking his body into a defensive posture, he snapped his head away from the whining voice and flailed his hands near his ear with a yell.

Mosquitoes have the infuriating ability to avoid such reactions.  Treebeard was not a mosquito.  He was a daisy.

Merry’s backhand sent the flower sailing through the air, shrieking all the while.

“EEEEEEEEE—UFFFF!!!”  The Ent screamed as he was introduced face-first to an oak tree.

Pippin, startled from his slumber, thought they were under attack by some deadly creature of the forest.  His cry of terror was soon added to those of Merry and Treebeard.  The entire forest winced.

*     *     *

Gimli had been eyeing the forest suspiciously and ran straight into Legolas’s back when the Elf stopped abruptly.

“What in the name of--” sputtered the Dwarf.  Legolas’s bow was much more deadly when used for shooting, but suddenly finding oneself walking right into it was quite painful as well.  It tended to have some unpleasant pointy sections.

“Shhh!” hissed the Elf, his hand raised.  “Listen!  Can you not hear that?”  He swiftly unstrapped the bow from his back and grabbed an arrow.

An eerie chorus of screams broke through the stillness of the forest.

“Someone is under attack,” muttered Aragorn as he tensed and drew his sword.

Three pairs of eyes locked.  No words were needed to express what each was thinking.

With a great shout, the hunters crashed through the ancient eaves towards the terrified yells.

*     *     *

In Merry’s opinion, it was as though he were waking to a nightmare.  Yesterday had been terrible, and from the start of things, today would be no better.

The previous day, it had taken them five hours to travel to Treebeard’s “house.”  It had been a bare patch of dirt at the edge of the forest clearing and was approximately twenty feet from where they met Treebeard.  The Ent, as the hobbits soon discovered, was unable to travel very far or very long.  He would hop in two-inch leaps for about three minutes and then collapse out of pure exhaustion.  After resting for half an hour, they would proceed onward for another three minutes.  It was maddening, and Merry would have surely cracked had it not been for Pippin’s unfaltering patience with the creature.

To make matters worse, the Ent had also regaled them with tales of the lost Entwives (“I wonder why they ran away…” Merry had muttered under his breath) and sang what he called “The Song of Treebeard.”

‘I am Treebeard

Hoom!  Hoom!

I am the greatest.

Hoom!  Hoom!

I am Treebeard

Hoom!  Hoom!

I am the greatest.

Hoom!  Hoom!

I am Treebeard…’

Merry and Pippin had been horrified when they realized the song only contained two stanzas. 

Treebeard informed the two that Elves had taught Ents how to speak, and Pippin made a mental note to reprimand Legolas for his kindred’s idiocy.

Needless to say, Merry did not feel inclined to apologize to the Ent after smacking him into the tree.  The normally congenial hobbit had reached his limit. 

“Merry,” implored Pippin, “please.  Just say you’re sorry.”

“Fine,” Merry snapped.  “I’m sorry.”

Pippin sighed in relief.

“Sorry I didn’t do that sooner!”

That did it.  All hell broke loose as hobbit and Ent lunged at each other.

*     *     *

At that precise moment, the three hunters burst through the trees.

*     *     *

In later years, Aragorn was still unable to recall what raced through his mind at the scene before him.

There was Merry, shouting furiously as he tried to fight of Pippin’s desperate hold.  Around the struggling duo, there hopped a screaming… flower?

Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn lowered axe, bow, and sword (respectively).  Legolas blinked.  Gimli scratched his beard.  And Aragorn, for the first time in his life, was at a complete and utter loss.

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Disclaimer:  This story is non-profit and is sole product of the author’s own insanity.  All recognized characters and places are property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinema.  May Tolkien have mercy.

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~ Chapter 3: Entmoot ~

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Should any have chanced to witness the reunion of the Three Hunters and their quarry, it would have been deemed a most interesting spectacle to behold.

Aragorn opened and shut his mouth, as though he were a suffocating fish gasping helplessly upon the sand.  Their current situation was. . . not right.  Of this, the Ranger was certain.  The Heir of Isildur was not the only one perturbed by these misgivings.  Merry, still within the tightened grasp of Pippin, could do naught but grimace apologetically.  Pippin merely shook his head and shrugged.  ‘It is all wrong,’ thought Aragorn.  He knew not how, but only that it was.

Treebeard, meanwhile, had taken to gnawing upon Merry’s leg.  Fortunately, daisies do not have teeth.

Aragorn shot Gimli a look, to which the Dwarf answered with a grunt and raise of his thick brows.  Something was most definitely amiss.  The Ranger then turned to Legolas, in the hopes the Elf might offer an explanation to the matter, but Legolas was far too fascinated by the gnawing flower to take note.  Aragorn again sought the eyes of Merry and Pippin, and a silent understanding was reached.

The Ranger turned sharply on his heel.  “Come Gimli, Legolas,” he called.  “We must continue our journey into the forest post-haste.”

“But what of the hobbit folk,” asked Legolas, finally managing to tear his eyes away from the peculiar flower.

Aragorn cleared his throat.  “I see no hobbits.”

Legolas blinked.  Surely mortal sight was not so limited!  “But Aragorn,” exclaimed the Elf, his brow furrowing in confusion, “Clearly, they are directly in front of us.”  The Elf stretched his slender arm in the direction of the two hobbits, who had managed to snatch Treebeard and were attempting to slink off into the dry eaves. 

Aragorn tactfully averted his eyes.  “I see no hobbits,” he repeated.

The poor Silvan Elf was utterly confounded.  “But—“

“I, too, see no hobbits,” stated Gimli in a loud and scripted tone.  He rotated his stout body until his back was to Merry and Pippin.

Legolas looked back and forth from Aragorn and Gimli to Merry and Pippin.  Had they all gone mad?  “Are you daft?  If you but turn around, I assure you, they are clearly visible!”

Pippin and Merry charged recklessly into the trees, heedless of the overgrowth barricading their path.  Treebeard began to scream ridiculously long oaths at the duo as errant brambles tore at his petals.  Aragorn gritted his teeth.  “No hobbits,” he said through his clenched jaw.

Legolas stared at the Ranger in disbelief.  Aragorn promptly avoided the Elf’s sharp gaze and began to walk back into the forest from whence they came—in the direction opposite Merry and Pippin.  Gimli marched after him.

The perplexed Elf remained in the clearing, pondering what course of action would be most beneficial to him.  Of course they were not supposed to discover the hobbits at this point in time, Legolas was certain of this though he could not say why, but that did not mean they could simply pretend the accidental meeting never occurred. 

The high-pitched screams of Treebeard could still be heard as they echoed throughout the wood.  Legolas winced as his sensitive ears were assaulted by the dreadful sound.  He had no desire to follow the noise, but he also had no desire to follow a possibly blind (and delusional) Ranger and Dwarf.  He cocked his head and sighed as Aragorn called to him.  In the end, the Elf’s loyalty to the Ranger and Dwarf finally won him over and he turned back to his companions.  He was, however, positive they had both cracked.   

 *     *     *

“Your mother was a HaHooooomHastyInsectPotatoTreePigWallop!  Hoom!  HOOOOOOOO—ACK.”  Treebeard began to choke and gag as Merry squeezed him tighter around the stem. 

“Shut-up!  Shut-up!" shouted the hobbit.  "Shut-up!  You miserable wretch!”  He was not exactly sure if he found Treebeard’s remarks insulting, but they were certainly annoying.  And Merry wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to choke the little monster.

“Merry, not so hard,” ordered Pippin.  “You’ll kill him!”  Merry glared at Pippin; that was precisely the point.

The hobbits slowed their mad scurry after several minutes had come and gone.  They were then hit by the full realization that they had just fled from Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas.  “Why?” asked Pippin aloud, voicing Merry’s thoughts.  “Why did we do that?”

Merry shook his head, “accidentally” squeezing Treebeard in the process.  “I don’t know,” he muttered over the daisy’s gurgled screams and threats.  “I don’t rightly know.  But I have the strangest feeling that meeting should not have happened.”

Pippin nodded and scratched his ear.  “Me too.  How very odd..."

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“They came at last to what looked like an impenetrable wall of dark evergreen trees.  Through [a narrow entrance] the path passed and dived suddenly down a long steep slope.  The hobbits saw that they were descending into a great dingle, almost as round as a bowl, very wide and deep, crowned at the rim with the high dark evergreen hedge.  It was smooth and grassclad inside.”  *

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Flowers of every size, shape and hue decorated the grassy dip, and the sudden burst of color left the hobbits breathless.  “Entmoot!” cried Treebeard in delight.

“What?” asked the two hobbits in unison. 

Treebeard took a deep breath.  “Hoom HOOOOOOM!  DARUUUUUM!!! HOOOOM!” he shrieked.  Merry dropped the wailing Ent with a yelp and covered his ears with both hands.

Suddenly, every flower in the meadow turned and began hopping towards them.  “Hoom HOOOOOOM!!!”  The eardrum shattering cries rose into the air, causing birds to take to the sky and forest animals to flee in terror.

Merry and Pippin watched in horror as thousands upon thousands of roses, daisies, dandelions, violets, marigolds, and countless others slowly hopped closer and closer.  It was as if the entire land had picked itself up and now moved forth in one giant, undulating wave. 

The agonized wails of the two hobbits mingled amidst the shrieking Ents.  Treebeard, mistaking their cries of agony for cries of joy, began bouncing excitedly at their feet.  “Yes, yes, do join in,” the daisy shouted triumphantly.  “We will shout our battle cry all the way to Orthanc!”

“Orthanc?” exclaimed Pippin, through his tears of pain, “Why are we going to Orthanc?”

Treebeard stopped mid-bounce.  “To attack!” squeaked the flower, flailing his petals wildly.  “We will show them the true fury and wrath of the Ents!”

Merry sat down helplessly upon the grass and watched as the flowers began jumping back down into the vale and on to Orthanc.  At the rate they were going, they would be lucky to reach the tower by next winter.

“Merry,” began Pippin.  “It could be worse.”

Merry, his face the picture of misery, turned to his cousin.  “How?  How could it be any worse than this?” he cried.  “We are in the company of screaming flowers, who just so happen to be on their way to attack Orthanc...  HOW IN THE NAME OF ARDA DO FLOWERS ATTACK ORCS AND WIZARDS?”

Pippin plopped down in the grass next to Merry.  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.  “But,” his countenance brightened considerably, “if Frodo and Sam can make it to Mordor, there is no reason why the Ents can’t overthrow Saruman.”

Merry fought the urge to slap him.  “We don’t even know if Frodo and Sam are still alive, much less traveling to Mordor,” snapped Merry.  Pippin’s face fell.  Merry sighed.  “Well, maybe it will all work out in the end.”  He rolled his eyes when Pippin wasn’t looking.

Pippin stood up abruptly.  “Come on,” he shouted to Merry.  “Let’s go help them!”  The young hobbit trotted off and began picking up numerous Ents.

Merry wondered what Saruman would think when two hobbits showed up at the gates of Orthanc bearing armloads of flowers.  He put his head in his hands and moaned.  No good would come of this, he was certain.

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* The Two Towers; Book III, Chapter 4: Treebeard.

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Disclaimer: This story is non-profit and sole product of the author's own insanity. All recognized characters and places are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinema, and any successful Elf-nappers, hobbit-nappers, Men-nappers, etc. etc.

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~ Chapter 4: And Isengard Trembled Before Them ~
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"At last Gandalf halted and beckoned to them; and they came, and saw that beyond him the mists had cleared, and a pale sunlight shone. The hour of noon had passed. They were come to the doors of Isengard."

--- The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Chapter 8, "The Road to Isengard."

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And so it was that Gandalf the White, followed by the Three Hunters: Aragorn son of Arathorn, Legolas of the Elves, and Gimli of the Dwarves; Théoden King of Rohan, Éomer of the Riddermark and his entourage of twenty Rohirrim, came to stand before the gates of Isengard.

The fully intact gates of Isengard.

Gandalf furrowed his bushy brows and gazed up at the towering gates. They had been flung open, but were not destroyed, as they ought to be. Why?

Thinking perhaps it was an illusion, some devilry of Saruman, the stately wizard dismounted his steed Shadowfax and prodded the gates with his staff.

They emitted a healthy thump.

Gandalf pursed his lips and looked the gates up and down, squinting in the noontide sun. The gates should not be standing. The gates should have been destroyed...  Perturbed, the wizard began to pace and mutter.

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged worried glances as the wizard continued walking back and forth for several minutes, mumbling incoherently under his breath. Théoden, Éomer, and the rest of the Rohirrim sat quietly upon their mounts in polite and embarrassed silence. Gimli emitted several throaty grunts, though as he was prone to habitually make such noises, his thoughts on the matter could not be discerned.

At length, the wise Mithrandir seemed to remember his charge. Turning to the Three Hunters and uneasy Rohirrim, he threw up his hands and smiled apologetically. "I seem to have been misinformed," he stated, more to himself than to the others. "How peculiar, but...."  The wizard cast one final glance upon the gates and shook his head. "Well, never mind. I suppose all is in good order."

Legolas again sought out the eyes of Aragorn. Aragorn met the Elf's gaze and frowned. Gandalf the White, all-knowing and powerful wizard risen from the flames and fire of Khazad-dûm, should not "suppose" anything.

Nonetheless, both Elf and Ranger dutifully followed the Istari through the archway along with the Men of Rohan, though neither could be blamed for choosing to ride at the very back of the company.

* * *

The Great Attack was underway.

Pippin watched as the enraged Ents charged the dark tower, their wrath and fury humming through the air as piercingly as their screams. With horrific shrieks the Ents leapt and flung themselves at the black walls, gnashing and tearing and clawing at anything that stood in their way.

Alas, as anyone who has ever tried to crush rock with a flower may recall, the poor Ents against the cold stone of Orthanc was as effective a tactic as trying to drown a fish. They could leap no higher than twice their body length (which was approximately to Merry's knee), and only succeeded in tearing their silky petals as they viciously pounded themselves into the wall.

The whole affair became disastrous once Saruman released his minions. The orcs were having a field day: plucking the enraged flowers off of the ground and engaging in such cruel tortures as "Sauron loves me; he loves me not" and "Shelob had a baby and its head popped off." The wizard's dark warriors proudly displayed the carcasses of their victims, wearing the flowers strung about their necks in chains or tied within their matted hair. Many an Ent was reduced to wailing petals of despair as he faced an orc bearing the head of a daisy or rose he knew tucked delicately behind the foul creature's ear.

Then the wolves came, simply snapping the hapless Ents in two with a quick bite of their monstrous jaws.

Pippin was forced to drag Merry into some deserted slave quarters, and there the two hobbits sat, huddling in terror while the massacre raged all around them. At least, Pippin was huddling in terror. Merry, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear as he watched the demise of the shrieking little flowers. It worried Pippin that Merry did not seem the least bit concerned about their current situation, and the younger hobbit was, on several occasions, forced to pull his gleeful cousin away from the windows. Merry was enjoying the battle far too much than Pippin thought acceptable. Even more concerning was the fact that Treebeard had disappeared shortly after the battle began, and there were several crumpled daisy petals stuck to the bottom of Merry's feet.

* * *

Blood-curling shrieks and harsh Orkish laughter grated the ears of Gandalf the White and his company. At first the group balked, not wanting to face whatever awaited them, for they had not sufficient numbers to combat the enemy. However, with Gandalf's assurance that Saruman had been overthrown and was no more, the brave little company gathered themselves together and charged through the last tunnel...

...straight into the welcoming army of Saruman.

* * *

Haldir of Lothlórien nearly fell out of the tree he had dozed off in, so suddenly was he wretched awake. The screams again pierced through the crystallized silence of the Golden Wood, shattering the peaceful slumber of night.

Below him, Rúmil yelped in terror (evidently, the brother of Haldir had not had as secure a resting spot within his tree). Feeling weak as a trembling autumn leaf, Haldir dropped down beside his kin and wordlessly placed a shaking hand upon Rúmil's quivering shoulder.

Both brothers cried out in terror and spun around as the scream suddenly came from directly behind them.

"AAAIIIIII!!!"

Haldir and Rúmil stared in dumbstruck silence as the Lady Galadriel ran through the forest in her nightclothes, long golden hair unbound and flowing behind her. "We must rid the forest of daisies! I demand an immediate removal of them all! They shall be the end of us if we do not!"

The barefoot lady vanished into the trees as quickly as she had appeared, still screaming and ranting about the relatively insignificant flowers. The two brothers stared in the direction she had fled. Haldir promptly shut his mouth when he realized it was hanging open. Confused, he turned to Rúmil, who blinked several times as if to make sure his eyes had just witnessed the sight, and shrugged.

"Galadriel!" Celeborn came staggering out of the bushes with a goblet of warm milk in hand. "My beloved wife, it was but a dream! Galadriel? Galadriel!" He paused when he caught sight of the two brothers and shot them an anxious look. Haldir and Rúmil wordlessly pointed him in the direction which the fair lady had fled.

Giving the two guardians a swift nod of thanks, the Lord of Lothlórien hitched up his robes and charged into the eaves after his queen.

"It was but a dream!"

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:) The End.

Special thanks to the people I managed to coerce into reading this tale (your reviews never failed to put a smile on my face and brighten my day). THANK YOU!!!

Vanity2, Yilantri, WickedFantasies, Thalia Weaver, Laurel Whitney, Miss Kaltia, Jen Littlebottom, Wraith Squadron, Sigil Galen, Aelfswythe, technetium, wellduh, Allyrien Chantel de Montreve, Jedi's Honor Bound Witch, kim, Lyrique, Phoenix Flight, ccg, Rabia, e, The Evil Old Woman, Rhikat, Yuffie-Girl, JastaElf, Nancing Elf, Yami Kimiko, Ithilien, SilentStep, Jeanne Dark, EdnaTod, Lauren, o0-Key-o0, Red-Dragon675, panther7x, and Hoo-ah.   

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