[Envinyatar]

There was a lull in the suppertime routine. The hungry crowd in the Common Room had been appeased for the moment, and the dishes in the kitchen had all been scraped, waiting for later to be washed. Ruby sat in one of the chairs at the oaken table, her feet propped on another she had pulled up close. For weeks now, no – months, it seemed, she and buttercup had had the running of the kitchen. And truth be told, they were bone tired from it.

‘Where’s Cook, when we need her?’ cried Buttercup as she pulled up a chair for herself. The bread pans stood accusingly on the countertop with the bin of flour just below them waiting to be opened and dipped into to make the next day’s bread. The big bread bowls loomed large from the shadows, and they could almost hear the clapping of the wooden spoons against the sides, tapping out the message that they must be up early to get the day’s bread going. ‘I thought she would be coming back long before this.’

Buttercup reached into the pocket of her apron and drew out the last word they’d had from Derufin, Zimzi, and Cook. It was a short note, hastily written saying they would be back soon.

This is quickly written, so you will have to forgive the splotches of ink. There was no time to blot it as I barely caught the messenger as he passed through.

Cook, as you can probably guess was quite distressed by your letter. So much so, that we have thrown all our belongings helter-skelter into the back of the wagon and are heading back to the Inn as quickly as the poor horses can pull us. Zimzi and I are with her. Thank the one for the calming influence of my dear one on the flustered Hobbit! I swear to you that Miz Bunce would have clamped her hat tightly on her head the very moment she finished your letter and hied herself to the Shire on her own if Zimzi had not persuaded her that she could not leave us behind.

It was hard to understand from Cook’s strangled gasps as she read your letter what exactly had happened, was happening there. The words ‘Hawthorne’ and ‘insufferable’ were barely intelligible through her clenched jaws. I can tell you she placed her hand on her chest when she squeaked out the words ‘my kitchen!’ I was unable to read what you had written as she clenched it tightly in her fist and threw it directly into the fireplace, muttering a few very unladylike imprecations.

At any rate, we will be there in less than a fortnight. Cook’s mood has not grown any lighter as we near the Westmarch, though Zimzi gives her a little tincture of valerian root at night with her tea.

I am pleading with you – if something drastic has indeed happened there, it needs to be put in order by the time we arrive. The stormclouds are gathering and I fear for any their wrath rains down on . . .

- D –
Derufin, his mark

But that had been weeks ago, and no sign of them yet. And no word why they had been delayed. ‘Wolves,’ whispered Buttercup. ‘The beasts must have gotten them when they came past the Tower Hills.

Ruby rolled her eyes and tried to make light of this worry. ‘There’s been no reports of wolves since the Fell Winter, you goose. And don’t argue with me about it – my gaffer’s the one that told me so!’ Still, in her heart there was a cold chill that something might have happened to the three travelers on their return from Mithlond.

+^+^+^+^+^+^+^+

It was not wolves that had delayed them. It was a horse. The track they had taken from The Towers to the border of the Shire had washed out in the heavy rains that had com over the hills. There were ruts along the way, deep ones, and one of the team had had the misfortune to lose his step and sprain his front forearm quite badly. Derufin would not leave the care of the injured horse to someone else, and so the little band had been camping out while he doctored the injury.

When, at last, the leg had been declared well enough to travel on, Zimzi’s horse had been harnessed to the other cart horse and they’d rolled along at a slow pace – Derufin on his own mount, leading the recovering horse at a pace that did not tax him.

Now, they neared the small hillock which would bring them a view of Bywater and the Green Dragon. Derufin watched as Zimzi nudged Cook, who was holding her breath, eyes screwed shut tightly, fearing the very worst. Zimzi’s soft voice had the hint of a smile in it as she spoke to Cook. ‘Open your eyes, Mistress Bunce! It’s a lovely view you’re missing!’