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The granite of the Misty Mountain peak shuddered and stretched. A cliff face became a ledge. The ledge curled into a bowl.
Gandalf the White lowered his staff. "There. As grand an eyrie as any lord could wish."
Gwydin, Lady of the Wind, perched on the edge of the bowl. "Yes, this is quite fine. It will hold a spacious nest. But . . ."
She turned and looked down. "Any chick who fell out would be shattered by those sharp rocks below."
"I am sure you would never let your chicks be so careless," answered Gandalf.
Gwydin looked to her mate. Gwaihir the Windlord flew down to a crag just above the one Gandalf was perched on. He looked down his beak at the wizard. "Surely you are aware of how little ones of all kinds evade their parents at every opportunity."
"Perhaps I could come back another time to improve that."
"We did not wait for another time when you sought our assistance. We came at once, flying at our best speed, though to fly twice as fast is four times the effort."
Gandalf spread his hands. "Have I not repaired dozens of eyries today?"
"Most of those were ones you made for us after the battle at the Lonely Mountain, only needing to be repaired."
The wizard leaned on his staff for effect. "I truly am tired from my efforts today."
"The nick. Of time," screeched the Windlord. "Lava creeping up the rock. The hair on their toes shriveling from the heat."
Gandalf sighed. He hefted the staff. "A gentle dell under the eyrie, then?"