* At daybreak, overlapping snowflakes tagging each other in their race to earth was all the eye could see out the frost-laced window. Autumn leaned over her porridge-bowl and mug of tea to giggle, then whisper conspiratorially to Giles. Giles jumped, half-asleep and half-hypnotized by the snow. Autumn giggled louder, looking around to make sure neither Bullroarer nor the Innkeeper were around. Satisfied that no one would overhear, she nodded once and began. *
Giles, I've come up with a trick. See if you like it. We could volunteer to refill the water canteens for everyone and then fill them up with ale. When people ask why the water tastes so strange, we can say that the cold made it taste like that. The poor hobbits, after they drink enough of it, will then become drunk!! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] So, what do you think, Giles?
* Giles yawned and rubbed morning weariness from his eyes. As Autumn's trick idea sank into his sleep-benumbed mind, a smile lit his face and Giles stuffed a knuckle in his mouth to keep from laughing. That gave him just enough time to think better of it. *
Can't have drunken Hobbits staggering off into snowdrifts and freezing to death, endangered on our mission to Rivendell through our joking around. But I wouldn't mind serving water with a harmless secret ingredient ... pepper, maybe. Or, or ... here's another idea, Autumn! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
* Giles's eyes glinted as he whispered mischievously to Autumn. Then he called for the Innkeeper. * May I have some pepper, please? And salt too, if you've any to spare.
* The Innkeeper plunked down tin containers of salt and pepper on the board before them. * Take as much as you want, though there's no eggs or bacon to season, and your porridge-bowls are empty.
* Giles handed the full containers of salt and pepper to Autumn. Walking to another table, he helped himself to a second set of full salt and pepper tins which he stashed away in his trouser pockets. *
* Then at last the two scouts and their ponies were underway. The wind and blowing snow were so fierce that Giles was glad of his black hawthorn whacking stick to steady him, his trousers styled long down to his ankles after the Mannish fashion, and his thick brown wool cloak and hood. *
* The snow was easily waist deep in patchy drifts blown across the road, so from time to time Giles cleared a path for Autumn with his small shovel. The path remained in place just long enough for her to pass before the wind filled it up with snow again, leaving no trace of their passage. So on they trudged, mile after mile, into the unchanging white ahead bordered by the buried shadowy-blue shapes of trees left and right. *
[ December 03, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]
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