[Envinyatar]

Drawn in by the smell from the kitchen, Derufin peeked his head in from the Common Room. 'Is there an old, dry crust of bread you can spare a starving man?' he said, looking forlorn. 'The wife refuses to cook for me! Imagine that!'

Zimzi was busy at the other end of the Inn, talking to Gil and the others about the puppets in the trunk. He’d helped the lads carry it to the small back room beyond the stairwell in the common room. But, his interested had waned when they’d begun to talk about putting some sort of play together. His stomach too had grumbled quite loudly as Gil began saying how it should be an exciting one, and that there should be swords and such. Zimzi had grinned up at him as he stood there trying to look interested. ‘Get yourself some food, husband,’ she’d said. ‘Cook will surely give you something if you just show her that sad, neglected face you know always gets round her.’

He'd raised his brows at her and tried to look offended at her assessment. But it was no use, she stood and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then pushed him toward the kitchen. ‘You don’t want to come with me?’ he said, trying his sad expression on her.

She laughed, saying she would be there soon enough. And that Gil and Tomlin and the others of their little group would take care of her quite adequately in his short absence.

The lads nodded their heads in agreement, and Gil he noted stepped up beside her with a certain protective air. Now it was Derufin’s turn to smile. He nodded at the Hobbits, then spoke directly to Gil. ‘I’ll leave her in your charge then, Master Gil,’ he said. The Hobbit nodded solemnly, his chest puffing out a bit. ‘Come out to lunch soon . . . all of you,’ he said as he turned to leave. ‘I had a sudden thought . . . I’m not all that handy with puppets and tale telling and such. But you’ll be needed some sort of stage to perform on. And that’s something I can do.’