[piosenniel]

‘Masters Ferrin and Fallon!’ Two heads swung about to see Cook standing behind them, hands on ample Hobbit hips. I hope they’ve not been filling your head with horrible stories about our little custom,’ she said addressing Derufin. She cocked her head to one side, looking at the man. ‘Though by the look on your face it seems you have heard the worst of it.’ She tapped her foot quietly on the wooden floor.

Ferrin took a pull at his mug, then cleared his throat. ‘Now, Miz Bunce . . . we were just giving him the widest of views of what might happen.’ Fallon nodded his head in agreement. ‘Tis good to be a little afeared of the unknown, so my old granda says,’ he chimed in. ‘Besides, the old man here’s one of us now . . . no reason he should be spared some good Shire fun.’

Cook’s face cracked into a wide grin and she chuckled at the earnestness of the two lads. ‘I’m beginning to think that you two might have decided to have a hand in organizing the shivaree,’ she chortled, raising her brows at them. The two clamped their mouths shut tightly, but the decided glimmer of impish plans surfaced in their eyes and their lips, of themselves, curved up in knowing smiles. ‘I see,’ she pronounced, nodding her head knowingly. She looked at Derufin, his face registering bafflement. She patted him on the arm. ‘’Twill be fine, Master Derufin. ‘Tis an enjoyable custom . . . even the caterwauling.’ She beamed as an idea came into her head. ‘I’ve some old pans and lids stored down in the cellar,’ she said, winking at Fallon and Ferrin. ‘Mind you keep your hands off my working set and you can borrow those others.’ She cleared her throat and made one further offer. ‘And I might be persuaded to sing, too . . . providing there is a wee dram of those Dwarven spirits available . . .’ She gazed meaningfully at Derufin. A call from the kitchen cut further conversation short as she turned hastily to take care of the problem.

‘Now you should be afraid,’ whispered Fallon, leaning over the table toward Derufin. ‘Oh, aye,’ said Ferrin, filling their mugs once again. ‘We should all be afraid.’ Derufin took a gulp of ale, raising his brows over the rim. ‘Miz Bunce,’ continued Ferrin. ‘You’ve never heard her sing, have you?