Toby Hornblower had had quite enough of tending restless animals.
“Stupid horses,” he murmured, casting an annoyed glance at one of the animals. His stomach seemed to be swelling and contorting wildly in its search for food. Surely he could abandon the creatures just long enough to get some sustenance. He desperately needed some good pipe-weed and a mug of ale or two. He got up, squirming between the closely bunched posse of horses and ponies, worming and scurrying along towards the makeshift camp of the Green Dragon “refugees.”
He walked briskly past his brother, who obviously had his hands full with the innkeeper and another hobbit, and to the area where everyone had gathered. He, rather rudely, scooped up a neglected tureen of fresh-smelling substance, which he suspected to be soup, and sat down vigorously, his eyes glinting gleefully as he prepared to dive head first into the meal without casting a second though at proper Shire table manners. Before doing so, he took one glance to both sides for good measure.
“Oh…umm..hello.” He said, laughing nervously as he realized where he was.
The hobbit, to his extreme displeasure, was sitting squarely between the woman from before, Roa, and the accusing man, Snaveling. Tobias’ mind quickly kicked itself very hard just because it was frustrated, though he tried to do no such thing physically. He decided it would be too suspicious to move away, so he reluctantly stayed put, his eyes darting swiftly from Roa to Snaveling, a maneuver continually followed by the disconcerting laughter, one of the gentlehobbit’s nervous defense mechanisms.
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"What mortal feels not awe/Nor trembles at our name,
Hearing our fate-appointed power sublime/Fixed by the eternal law.
For old our office, and our fame,"
-Aeschylus, Song of the Furies
Last edited by Kransha; 02-16-2004 at 06:16 PM.
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