The Narrator breaks in again:
For two nights in a row I have been on tenterhooks. A sense of impending doom pervaded my actions during the day, and intensified over night. I would look up quickly from what I was doing and see only blackness. The loss of vision was fleeting, but none the less disturbing.
Then last night, the dream started as my clock rolled to midnight. Least ways it did in my dream. And I could see the three beings whose adventures I have been following rush about in a frenzy upon the ramparts of what I judged to be the dwarves outpost that I’ve read about. The blackness was rolling towards them. A solid nothingness.
I looked again at their movements and realized they were not moving haphazardly, but with purpose, and somehow it broke up the blackness into component parts, so that the approaching enemy was visible. I turned and noticed that the Merlin talisman around Meribabell’s neck was doing the illumination.
In its beam of light a cadaverous troll was stumbling up to the redoubt led by a ravenous wolf on a leash.
I was aware in that instant the stone of the rampart beneath the soles of my bare feet. A golden eagle flashed past my ear and I forgot about my cold feet.
It was the pixie charging the wolf, and having gained its attention, baited it into the entrance of the outpost, where both troll and wolf fell to the onslaught of Rumble and the dwarves.
As their adversaries melted away, I, too, faded from the scene.