Rose and Buttercup were busy seeing to the needs of the other customers and getting dishes cleared away in between times. The Inn seemed unusually busy this evening. Big Folk, Fair Folk, and here and there a scattering of Hobbits. ‘I wonder if old Gaffer Proudfoot brewed his own barrels of ale this year,’ she thought to herself. ‘Could be that’s where all the Hobbits have got off to.’
Prim smiled as she thought of the times her Gaffer had brought her with him to Bywater, on some business for The Floating Log. They had always broght a load of Budgeford hops with them when it was in season – to bring to Gaffer Proudfoot. He like to experiment with his ale brewing, and Prim’s Gaffer like to taste the results of those experiments!
Prim got up and cleared away her own dishes to the kitchen, going so far as to wash them up and leave them to dry in the drainer. Mistress Piosenniel, it appeared, had gone off to her room with her babies she noted with a sigh. Then smiled recalling she would be here tomorrow still and she could see the twins again then.
At a nod of assent from Cook, she grabbed a mug of tea and went back out to the Common Room. A new fellow had come in. One of the Big Folk from the Mark as far as she could see. ‘Same place as Aman,’ she thought to herself, noting the horse-figured brooch he fingered idly. She had heard a story once from her Gaffer about the wonderful horses raised there and sometimes fantasized her own little pony Poppy had some of the Rohan horse spirit in her.
Plucking up her courage, Prim approached the blonde haired man as he sat cradling his half empty ale mug in his hand. ‘Begging your pardon, Sir, but would you like me to top that off?’ She cursed herself for forgetting her manners and dropped a small curtsy. ‘My name’s Prim . . . Primrose Bolger of Frogmorton.’ The firelight glinted off the silver brooch as he looked at her, an amused glint in his eyes. Prim hurried on. ‘I couldn’t help noticing your sword and brooch, Sir. Are you by any chance from Rohan?’
Well, there, she’d let curiosity get the better of her!
She craned her neck a little, inching forward to see what that map was he had on the table . . .
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. . . for they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth . . . are quick of hearing and sharpeyed, and though they are inclined to be fat and do not hurry unneccesarily, they are nonetheless nimble and deft in their movements . . . FOTR - Prologue
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