[Lalwendë]

Jinniver was now wearing her best dress and again she had a shawl clutched firmly about her shoulders. The shawl was her best one, woven into a checked pattern from soft wools in red tones. She wore it to cover herself up and save her from blushing, just as she had worn a shawl on the night her brother had turned up. She had noticed a few faces from Bree, and she suddenly felt self conscious about being near them while dressed in her finery. Yet the shawl helped with more than her confidence, it had also caught the excessive amount of crumbs from all the mushroom pasties she had tucked into.

She had already taken a full tankard of ale, jostling with the Hobbit lads to get to the barrels, but when she saw the punch bowl she had to try some. It was a delicious brew, and she could see why it was being kept for the female guests; the boisterous Hobbit lads preferred to sink their drinks quickly and seemed to barely taste them. Still, there was so much laughter now that it rang in her ears.

The punch made Jinniver feel light headed and she leaned against an Elm, fanning her red face with a corner of her shawl. How was she going to last through this if she felt so hot already? She resolved to keep away from the punch bowl, thinking how Hobbits must have been made of stronger stuff than she thought. As she lit her pipe, someone caught her eye.

Looking straight across towards where she was standing, was a stout, well-dressed Hobbit with a familiar face. It didn't take her long to realise it was the famous Samwise, Gardener and Adventurer and she couldn't take her eyes off him. "So there he is, the best gardener The Shire ever produced". She was rooted to the spot in the presence of the famous green-fingered Hobbit; the stories of his adventures were not what fascinated her, it was his reputation with plants which held her in awe. Wondering if he had seen the garden she had made, her face started to go red again, and she decided to go and check if it was looking perfect, just one more time.