[samsmyhero]

Denegal sat in the kitchen, his left foot soaking in a bucket of steaming hot water. This had been given him by Cook, otherwise known as Miz Bunce, after he had finished what work there was to do out in the yard. Fixing him with a stern glare, she had pointed the ladle in her hand at him and said, "Into the water with that foot, now! We can't have you gimpin' about here all week, can we? Looks as if it might be gettin' infected already. Men!" She shook her head with an air of weary grievance. Denegal wasn't quite sure if this last remark was directed at his race or his gender - the latter he suspected. But he saw the wrinkles of kindness that creased the corners of the little woman's eyes and mouth. Obediently, he had plunged the offending extremity into the bucket and immediately pulled it out again with a yelp of pain. The water was scalding hot! Before he could protest further, Cook had shot him another baleful glance. Gritting his teeth, he returned his foot to the water, this time much more slowly. Still, the water soon turned his skin to the color of a boiled lobster. Well, at least it was a certainty that his wounds would be clean, if not in fact cauterized by the heat!

When Denegal had first come down from the attic, the breeze had been picking up and he could smell the coming rain. Laying the footwear he had found aside by the door, he had hurried outside, hobbling about as best he could to get the tables and benches under shelter before they got wet. He didn't want his new employers to think he was a slacker. The little hobbits working along side him surprised him with both their strength and their friendliness. They laughed and chatted with each other and with him as they worked to get things set to rights. The morning was turning chilly and the sun was sulking behind the clouds. Denegal was glad to find that his height was in fact of some advantage, in that he could easily reach down the lanterns that had been strung about in the lower limbs of the trees in the yard.

Denegal had found himself somewhat tongue tied amongst his new acquaintances. Although normally not a shy person, he found their appearance somewhat disconncerting. It was like expecting to talk to a child, but finding instead the mind and speech of an adult. The hobbits, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease with him. They must get more than a few men travelling through these parts, Denegal surmised. This was borne out by what he had seen in the common room earlier. Even as they finished their cleaning up, Denegal noted several more men, Gondorians too by the sound of them, entering the inn yard with a cart and proceeding on into the inn. They seemed a somewhat querrulous lot and he wondered what had brought them to the Shire.

As Denegal now sat in the snug kitchen, he heard the shutters on the window ratttle gently every now and then. He wondered if a storm was coming their way. The clouds he had seen earlier in the west had looked rather threatening.

Ruby entered the kitchen, a little breathless. "Fillin' up out there, it is. Seems there's more than a few folk happy to get in out of that breeze." Seeing Denegal soaking his foot, she smiled."Now then, my friend, I see cook's set you up right. Did you have any luck upstairs?" She nodded her head in the direction of the attic.

"Well . . . um, yes, so to speak. That is to say . . . " Denegal's half murmured reply trailed off, as he craned his neck to look back over his shoulder towards the door. "Um, yes."

"What's that? Is that them over there?" Ruby had already filled the tray in her hands with a pot of tea and a big bowl of stew. Nevertheless, she brushed past Denegal and went to see his selection. Gazing down at the floor she laughed out loud. "What! Them? You can't be serious! You actually mean to wear these things?" She kept on laughing.

"Well, they were absolutely the only thing I could find up there that would fit!" Denegal said, a little defensively. "My foot is somewhat bigger than a hobbit's! Believe me, if I had found a pair of boots, even a pair of shoes that would fit, I would not have bothered to bring those down!" His face had turned slightly red, altthough nowhere near the lovely scarlet shade of his foot.

Ruby had set her tray down and bent over to pick up the articles in question. She held them in her hands, turning them this way and that to admire the full effect. The pair of red leather slippers were old and quite worn. But you could see that once they must have been quite outrageously bright, dyed a deep vermillion, and with tiny bits of colored glass cleverly sewn around the opening. The toes curled up in a most exotic manner and extended a good three inches past the end of the foot. One slipper was missing its heel, and the leather was cracked and stiff. Many of the bits of glass had fallen off, lending even more to the general air of dilapidation. Denegal groaned and looked away as Ruby held them out to Cook for inspection.

"I remember these! Don't you, Miz Bunce? Remember those fellows who came with that menagerie and all those tents - some sort of performers they were, with trained animals and all? We were so wishing they would put on a performance for us here at the inn. But they said they were 'previously engaged'. Humph! On the run, more like, if you ask me. They were a seedy looking lot. Only stayed the one night. And we found these, left behind, the next morning. Oh, Denegal." Here she broke into a giggling fit. "Certainly, you can't mean to wear them?"

Cook stepped closer to view the slippers. "Well, they may be somewhat fancy for working in. But if they fit, I guess it won't matter. Better than going around in just one boot."

"Try them on!" Ruby urged. "Perhaps they won't look that bad."

Denegal pulled his now water-wrinkled foot from the bucket and dried it on the towel Cook handed him. Sheepishly, he took the slippers from Ruby and set them on the floor in front of him. Inwardly, he cursed himself for having brought the odious things downstairs in the first place. What could he have been thinking? Far better to go barefoot than to wear such outlandish gear!

"Well, go on then. Put them on. " The cook eyed him with that same authoritative look - one that said "or else!".

Denegal sighed and pushed his feet into the slippers. What made matters even worse was that the dashed things fit like a glove, as if they had been made for him. And they were comfortable! But looking down at his feet, now shod in cracked red leather circus slippers, he thought, "Wouldn't 'Zilla just love to see me now?"