[Deorlin]

Deorlin's brow creased in furrows of thought. Now what was it his uncle had used that one time . . . "Yes . . . yes, I believe there may be some help for him. At least he's not slobbering like an orc - yet! I'll try to mix up something - but the ingredients, I don't have any of them. Let's go to the innkeeper and see what he can provide."

Deorlin gave the sick horse a reassuring pat. "Don't worry, boy. We'll try our best!" He smiled at the young woman, but inwardly he groaned. Poisonings were always tricky, whether horse or human. And he had seen both. He retraced his steps to the inn, the girl trailing in his footsteps.

Entering the crowded tavern once more, Deorlin made his way to the bar and found an elvish looking female taking orders. "Excuse me, my friend here has a sick horse, and we were wondering if you had any of the things we need to physic it - salt, nettle, mint and molasses, or honey would do?"

"Let me ask Dwarin, the innkeeper. I'm sure we can provide the salt, mint and honey - but nettle? It's not a thing one normally keeps on hand to feed hungry travellers - or hobbits!" She turned and went into the kitchen. Deorlin spoke to his new companion. "Don't worry. It looks to me as if your horse isn't too badly off - he must not have eaten too much of the stuff. By the way, you still haven't told me your name, or how you recognised my homeland - or is it a big secret?" he grinned in a teasing manner. "I guess it's a good thing I'm not trying to act as a spy."