[Envinyatar]

Derufin sidled away from the busy group and into the relative safety of the kitchen. He had only come in to get a jug of Cook’s cool mint tea and another dose of willow bark powder for his headache.

‘Don’t you go taking this yet,’ Cook instructed him, handing him the twist of parchment that held the powder. ‘Not good for you to have one dose right on top of another. You did the drinking, now you’ll just have to suffer the consequences.’

He wiped the grin from his face at her motherly admonishment, and nodded his head in what he hoped was a suitably chagrined manner. Cook, however, was not deceived by this change of expression, and proceeded to lecture him on the evils of overindulgence in spirits. To his good sense he did not laugh as the diminutive Hobbit wagged a crooked finger under his nose, and fixed him with her steely stare. Her brown curls, flecked with some gray, bounced this way and that as she ticked off points for him on her fingers, emphasizing each one with a shake of her head.

She had just worked her way to number six of her list of ‘And don’t you ever let me catch you . . . .’s, holding her left thumb up to keep count, when his resolve broke and he could no longer hold back. Bending down, he kissed the crown of her head, mashing her curls with his exuberant action.

Eyes wide she drew back from him, stuttering. ‘Now what in the Westfarthing was that all about, you blunderheaded Big Folk?!’ she blurted out.

‘You sounded just like my mother, the first time my brother and I got into Da’s home brewed mead. I simply couldn’t resist.’

Derufin grinned and bowed slightly to the disconcerted Hobbit. He bent down further, and gave her a peck on the cheek and a wink to follow. ‘I’m taking Falmar down to the Pool, away from the noise and bother of the Inn for a while. Vanwe can see to any horses that come in. Won’t be back ‘til late this evening. I have some personal business to take care of.’

Pocketing the twist of powder, he walked out the back door, the flask of tea in hand. He whistled for the horse, and mounting her in a still clumsy manner, rode out the gate and down the path . . .