Benat had many questions stirring in his mind. He shifted in his chair as if trying to move what was most important to the fore. He simply had not thought that he would not find Mr. Baggins when he came to the Shire. His Granda had told him many wonderful stories of the small fellow, a main theme of each being that though the Hobbit was game for an adventure, still his heart seemed to lie in the home he’d come from. The Shire. He’d really hoped to find Bilbo and ask him whatever happened when he and the Dwarves left the safety of the Carrock and ventured into the Dark Wood and then on to the Lonely Mountain. And had there been any more adventures after that one, he wondered?
He came out of his reverie and excused himself for his rudeness. ‘Please,’ he said standing up a bit and waving his hand toward the empty chair at his table. ‘Do sit down with me for a while. I do have many questions I would ask of you. I just don’t know where to begin them.’
Ginger had fetched a pitcher of ale by this time, and a small mug for Cook and now poured each of them a foaming drink. She’d also managed a rather large ham bone from the kitchen and gave it to Cullen, who thumped his tail heartily at the gift.
Raising his mug to Cook, Benat took a healthy swallow, then began his story, starting with the arrival of the wizard, the Hobbit, and the Dwarves to his Granda’s house in mid-summer many years ago. He backed the story up just a bit before going on, saying that this strange group of travelers had just escaped being trapped by wolves in a most amazing way – the eagles had come to their rescue. It was after this that they had fled to the Carrock and the safety of his Granda’s house. They had stayed barely a day, long enough for his Granda to hear of their adventures to that point and the proposed journey to be undertaken. Then off they’d gone, on horses leant them – east to the Dark Forest and beyond. It had pleased his Granda no end that Mister Bilbo had been such an appreciative dinner guest. And noting that the Hobbit quite enjoyed the fresh bread spread thick with his Granda’s bees own honey, the old man had always meant to send Mister Baggins a pot or two to remind him of their meeting.
‘And well, here, now, I am. Bringing the honey from my Granda’s bee hives. He got too old to do it himself, and besides, we rarely travel beyond the borders of our own little land. And now, besides, he’s passed away, a number of years now, leaving me to find out the rest of the story.’
Benat sighed and shook his great head sorrowfully.
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But the place that draws me ever/When my fancy's running wild,/Is a little pub in Oxford/Called The Eagle and the Child . . .
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