Before the crockery had even hit the ground Stoat had seen it falling. He had only heard half the conversation between the two women and although he had gleaned a little of use he could not stay to listen to any more. The mug shattered upon the verandah and he was off. He was confident of his route and turned not back. Leaping the bracken and dodging behind the Silver Birch that almost glowed in the light of the newly risen moon he did his best to vanish. He could not guarentee he had not been spotted in some way but the speed of his movements ensured they would not know him if ever their paths crossed again.
Eventually well into the wood that curved close to Hobbiton he collapsed between the sturdy roots of an ancient Elm. He was drenched in sweat and breathed loud and heavy. He reined in his breathing steadily while listening for any sould of persuit. Several minutes past. Several more. After a long while he thought he heard the chink of iron on stone as a horse proceeded along the lane nearby. The horse or perhaps another returned toward the town. No further sound but nature disturbed him.
Old Stoat rose and without even bothering to dust himself down began his weary way back to Ferny. He had precious little information it was true but he hoped what little there was would prove to be precious indeed.
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Auriel
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