[Envinyatar]

Derufin had been in Frogmorton since early morning. Cook sent him off at the crack of dawn with instructions to the cook at the Floating Log that she was wanting some of those new little chickens she’d heard that Lyssum had gotten. Little bits of things, she’d told Derufin, black and white stripeyed she’d heard. Good layers. ‘You get me a rooster and four hens, if Lyssum can spare them,’ Cook said, handing him a good sized wire and wood cage, and a small pouch of coins.

The trip had gone smoothly, excepting the sudden downpour. But he’d brought his oilskin cloak with him, and had not been much bothered by the rain. One rooster, three hens, and a new horse later . . . It was a bargain, he reasoned. The hostler there wanted to be rid of it. Eats too much the man had said, and none of the Hobbits round there needed a full sized horse. Derufin was hoping Cook would not make a fuss that her pouch was a few coins lighter than it should be.’

He’d strapped the cage to the new horse’s saddle, and led it behind his own back to Bywater. The going was slow . . . the horse did like to eat, and tried to stop at every clump of grass growing along the road.

It was late afternoon when he got back to the Inn. He put the chickens in the henyard, and took the two horses to the stable. Someone, he noted, had pulled a wagon up under the eaves of the stable, out of the way of the earlier rain shower. Shrugging off his cloak, he hung it on one of the hooks just inside the stable door, then led the two horses to empty stalls and wiped them down. Giving them a measure of oats and some fresh water, he walked to the back of the stable, to his room to freshen up.

Head down, watching the floor and lost in thought as he walked along, he nearly missed the familiar whicker as he passed the end stable on the left. He glanced over to see who had been put in the stall.

‘Falmar!’ he cried, his eyes lighting with delight. ‘You’ve come back to us, girl!’ Derufin entered the stall and ran his eyes and hands over the horse. ‘Someone’s been taking good care of you! You’re as fat and sassy as ever!’

He strode quickly from the stable, latching the horse’s stall door securely behind him and made for the kitchen. ‘Cook!’ he shouted, throwing open the door. ‘Falmar’s come back!’

Cook looked at him, grinning widely, and pointed out toward the Common Room. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And Mistress Piosenniel’s come with her.’